Masque
by Dark Amystika
Summary: Phantommovie: 16 years after the famous disaster Christine and Raoul try to live as though it never happened, never letting their daughter, Aminta, know. But what happens after a fight 'twixt Raoul and Aminta when Aminta runs to the Opera House? R&R!
1. Shattered

A/N: OK, the teeny tiny little box doesn't give me sufficient room to write a decent summary so please let me try again: 16 years have passed since the night of the "famous disaster". Christine and Raoul are trying to forget it all as they raise their daughter, Aminta. However, calamity strikes when Raoul lashes out at Aminta one night and she flees to the only other place she has learned to associate with safety: the Opera Populaire. There she meets a mysterious stranger, his face obscured by a mask…or he is such a stranger to her…? Please RR!

Disclaimer: I don't own any "Phantom" stuff, or anything you recognize, etc.

Shattered 

It's truly amazing how time can play tricks on you. A second seems to last forever, yet years can pass in the blink of an eye. Before Christine and Raoul knew it, they were married and had become parents. The events of the opera house seemed so far behind them, though they never forgot. Christine continued to sing there, despite advice against doing so by Raoul. She brought their daughter, Aminta, to see her dressing-room, thrilling her with tales of the Opera Ghost, saying that at any moment he might call to her from behind the mirror. Aminta loved it. She loved the opera house, the dressing-room, seeing her mother sing onstage. Early on she had come to love music above anything, especially opera. Often, her mother would sing to her at night, igniting beautiful dreams. And, of course, Christine told her stories of the Angel of Music. Raoul was skeptical about this, but Christine insisted that there was no harm in it. Often Aminta dreamt of the Angel, or the Opera Ghost. But these, unlike her other dreams, she kept to herself. They were her prized possessions, her special secrets. No one could take them away.

Aminta loved going to the opera house just to see it. She loved to see things, anything, sculptures, paintings, tombstones, buildings. She seemed to try to take in the entire world with her eyes. Consequently, she could see things that others could not, or overlooked. In fact, she could have sworn on several occasions to have seen a dark shape in Box 5 when she was watching her mother perform. But this, too, she kept to herself.

She lost her sight when she was six.

Coming home from dinner after a performance, she dropped her doll in the street. Unaware of the danger, she hurried to fetch it. A coming carriage did not see the small child in time. When the driver did see her, he tried to stop, but the horses reared. Aminta was struck in the back of the head by the raining hooves. When she awoke, all she could see was darkness. She screamed. Her parents tried to comfort her, but she would not be consoled. She shut the world out for a long time, emerging from her room only to eat with her parents. Eventually, she would not do even this, but insisted that her meals be brought to her room. She admitted no one, except her parents when they said good-night, and servants who came to change her bed sheets and bring her meals. For a year this went on. When she emerged, she had changed forever.


	2. Pretty In Pink to Beautiful In Black

Pretty in Pink to Beautiful in Black

As a little girl, Aminta had loved wearing dresses, especially fancy ones. After she ended her withdrawal from the world, she took to wearing masculine clothing, and all in black: black shirt, black leggings, black boots, even the ribbon she tied her long dark hair back with was black (the ribbon was actually tied around a blood-red rose that she found in her mother's vanity. One of many. She knew where they had come from). All this contrasted starkly with her pale skin and now-cloudy sapphire eyes. She returned to her piano, trying to teach herself to play without being able to see. With practice, she became quite good. But she never sang. For though she had inherited most of her mother's looks, she had not received her angelic voice. Her parents encouraged her to keep trying, but she gave up. But, for their sake, she tried to be more pleasant than she had been since the accident that took her sight. She attended her mother's performances and learned to paint a picture of the play in her mind from what she heard. It wasn't the same as seeing, but it was as close as she was going to get. She discovered that, if she held an object long enough, running her fingers over every inch of it, she could picture it in her mind. Often she could be found holding something and turning it over and over in her hands so she could "see" it. She started a game with her parents where one of them would close their eyes and the others would place an object in their hands and they would have to guess what the object was. Eventually, though, Aminta tired of the rather childish game when it became too easy for her. More and more she immersed herself in her books.

Books Aminta had always loved because they challenged her already wild imagination, and she had made a supreme effort to learn Braille as quickly as possible to read them again. Blind as she was, it was easier now for her to imagine what was happening in the book. They were all she had, and this scared her parents. They were afraid that she would completely forsake the world and everyone in it. She couldn't live in books and dreams.

"Aminta, my dear, we need to talk."

Aminta sighed. She had heard her father's breathing in the doorway for the last twenty minutes. She had hoped that she would at least be able to finish the chapter she was reading before he spoke. Oh well, she could get to that later. She marked her place in her book with a strip of silk and looked up in the direction her father's voice had come from. "About what?"

"About you." She heard the armchair in front of her creak as someone sat in it. "Dearest, you spend far too much time in your books. You need to come out and socialize sometimes."

"I eat with you, don't I?" she replied with a smile.

"You know that's not what I mean," Raoul said, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "You should go out with us more, make some new friends."

"My _books_ are my friends," she said patiently. She frowned. "Did you just put out my candle?"

"Um, yes," said Raoul a little uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, but you know that your scented candles give me a headache."

"All the more reason for you to stay out of my room," she said amiably. She could almost hear her father frown.

"Aminta," he said warningly. "It's not good for you to spend so much time alone."

"But I'm not alone," she said mysteriously, deciding to have some fun at her father's expense.

"Oh really?" Raoul asked. "And whom are you with?"

"The Angel of Music," she replied with a sly smile.

"Aminta!" he said sharply. Aminta blinked in surprise. "You know that your mother and I don't like it when you talk that way. There is no Angel of Music."

"No indeed, not since you tore his wings from him," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." There was a long pause. "If there is nothing else, I'd like to finished this chapter now. I'll be down soon for dinner." Whereupon she opened her book pointedly. Raoul sighed, as did his chair when he rose.

"Just think on what I said," he said as he left. Aminta sighed in irritation. This was not the first time this particular conversation had come up between them.

"Why can't he just leave me alone?" she said to herself. She began to read again. By and by, she heard someone humming a beautiful tune she could've sworn she had heard before. It took her a few minutes to realize that it was she herself humming. She remember the tune now, she had heard it in a dream once. But the name eluded her. She didn't care. She just kept humming and reading, until she heard hurried footsteps coming towards her. From the lightness of the steps, she could tell it was her mother. And she was worried for some reason. Ah well. Christine was always worried about something. She ignored her and continued reading.

"Where did you hear that song?" Christine demanded when she had reached the doorway.

"A dream," replied Aminta. "Why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset," said Christine, trying to compose herself. But she was. Aminta had been humming "Music of the Night".

"You _sound_ upset."

"I'm _not."_

"All right." There was a pause. "I take it you'd like me to come down for dinner now?"

"Please," said Christine. "We're waiting for you." She turned and Aminta heard her footsteps fading away. She sighed, marked her book again, took her walking-stick, and made her way downstairs.


	3. Temper, Temper

Temper, Temper

"Damned bloody stairs!" Aminta cursed as she tripped for the third time. She had yet to actually fall, but tripping was annoying enough. She gripped the railing and continued more carefully. She forced herself to continue going slowly even after she reached the end of the stairs. Eventually she reached the dining room, but she heard raised voices behind the door. Another side effect of her blindness was that it heightened her remaining senses. Thus, she was able to hear what her parents-for that was who it was-were saying.

"Just let her be, Raoul!" protested Christine.

"Christine, she's nearly sixteen! It's time she started acting like the young lady she's growing into!"

"But she's _happy_ as she is. Isn't that what's more important? So much was taken from her that night. Let her be happy."

"Darling, you know I want her to be happy. But I also want her to act like a lady. She'll have no prospects for a good marriage if she continues like this-"

"_Marriage_, Raoul? What are you thinking? She's not yet sixteen! Just let her come out of this when she's ready to."

"I'm just afraid that she'll never be ready to, or never want to. You know how she is."

"Yes, I do. Give her time."

"She's had ten years! If that's not time enough, then what good do you think more time will do her?"

Having long since heard enough, Aminta opened the door and slipped inside. She knew that if she just stood there she would go unnoticed until someone turned in her direction or she spoke. She chose the latter.

"Good evening," she said politely, but she was unable to keep the ice from her voice. She could hear her parents start at the sound of her voice and turn towards her. She made her way to them, running her hand along the backs of the chairs until she reached the end where her parents stood. "Having a rousing dinner conversation, are we?"

"Aminta, please watch your tone," Christine reproved her gently. "Your father and I were just discussing-"

"Me," Aminta completed for her. Christine did not deny it. "Father?"

"I'm right here, _cherie_," he said. She turned to him.

"Mother's right, you know," she said. "I'm perfectly content as I am, and I am not thinking about marriage yet, nor will I until I'm at least twenty." Raoul sighed.

"I know, but you really should be starting to act like a young lady. You _are_ a young lady."

"I always considered myself more of a rogue, personally," Aminta said conversationally. Raoul sighed again, and Aminta considered asking if he had sprung a leak, but decided against it.

"It's just that-" he began, leaning back against the breakfront behind him. "Ouch!" he cried in surprise.

"What happened?" asked Aminta, her eyes narrowing.

"I rested my hand on my penknife," said Raoul. "The one I lost last week. The cut's not bad, though. I was more surprised than anything."

"Kind of like when your dressing-room mirror melted away, Mother, and you beheld the enigmatic figure behind it?" Aminta commented.

"Aminta!" said Christine with a sharpness that wasn't like her. "You know your father and I dislike this kind of talk."

"I still wish you'd tell me the whole story," Aminta said. "Not your faerie-tale, sugar-coated version. I'm old enough now to know the truth."

"We don't like to talk about it," said Raoul firmly. But Aminta was tired of being silenced.

"Why not?" she persisted. "What happened? Meg told me that you pursued the Phantom and Mother when they disappeared off the stage. What happened then? She told me that, after the gala, Mother went through the mirror with the Ghost. What did his lair look like? You performed his opera-what was that like? Why won't you tell me!"

"Stop her, Christine," said Raoul tightly.

"Did you really nearly defeat the Phantom in a duel in the cemetery? Or was that another of your grand fabrications designed to fool a childish mind into thinking you're greater than you truly are, taking advantage of my blindness to paint a pretty picture of you, glorious Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny, who fought and would have murdered the Opera Ghost because he could offer Mother more wondrous things than you could ever even imagine-"

"STOP IT!" roared Raoul, striking her across the cheek. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that he was still holding his penknife. The result was a nasty gash diagonally across Aminta's right cheek. She gasped in shock and pain, holding her face, feeling the blood drip between her fingers like tears. She couldn't see, but she was staring at him in open-mouthed shock. Christine was doing the same, she knew.

"Aminta-" said Raoul, and she heard the knife drop to the floor as her father came towards her, trying to embrace her. "Aminta-" She pushed his hand away.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed. "Don't you ever touch me again, you bastard!" Wild with anger, hurt, fear, and confusion, she ran. She raced, stumbling, out of the manor, out into the storm, out into the streets. There she stopped and felt the wind on her face. She had long since taught herself to figure out where she was and where she was going by judging the direction she was facing. She turned left and ran for all she was worth. The Opéra Populaire wasn't too far.

She stumbled up the stone stairs, breathless and cold, she fell against the great doors. They were unlocked, as there was a performance later that night. The managers were too lazy to be bothered locking the doors when they were coming back again, which was what she had been counting on. She entered, dripping and winded. She could not see, but she had been to the Opera sufficient times to know the layout well enough to find her way blind. She knew where she was going. She stumbled on the stairs, but held the railing so she wouldn't fall. Eventually she found her way to the theatre. Instinctively, she started to turn for the stairs to the boxes on the right side (from the perspective of the audience) of the stage, but stopped. Smiling grimly she turned left instead and made her way up to the boxes on the left. She found her way by running her hands over the plaques that numbered the boxes until she had found the one she wanted. Box 5. She intended to be gone from the theatre by the time the performance started, so she figured the Ghost wouldn't mind her using his box for a short while. She stood facing the stage for a time, her hands on the low wall in front of her, trying to imagine seeing her mother onstage singing, turning her face towards her and her father up in their box right across from Box 5. She could imagine it all: the costumes, the lights, the music, the scenery. She turned away sharply, realizing that she didn't want to think about her parents. For the first time in a long time, she began to cry. She immediately wished she hadn't, as the salt from her tears burned in her cut, but she couldn't stop. She found herself sinking to the floor as she fought to control her emotions. When she finally did, she realized that she was suddenly exhausted. Before she even knew what she was doing, she had lain down on the floor and fallen asleep. Little did she realize that she was not alone.

A dark shadow fell over her, though she did not know it. She shivered in her sleep from the cold; her clothes were still wet. The black-clad figure standing over her regarded her thoughtfully, laying his cloak over her.

"Well, well," he mused softly. "What's this?"


	4. Touched By An Angel

Touched by an Angel

Aminta felt the cloak being laid over her, and woke without opening her eyes. Whether or not her eyes were open made no difference anyway. She wondered who was there watching her. At first she thought that it was her father, since the cloak smelled faintly of a cologne that he wore at her mother's request. But her father didn't generally wear a cloak, and this was too long for him anyway. It was warm, as though someone had just been wearing it. She knew that that selfsame someone was still standing near her, so that made sense. But who was it? She heard movement, someone coming closer to her, and she stiffened involuntarily. Doing so caused her to move her head slightly, and she felt it stick to her arm by the blood that was still running down her face. Her shirtsleeve was ruined, doubtless, but that was a small matter. For all she cared, she could just cut the sleeve off and wear the shirt anyway. What she wanted to know what who it was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her, contemplating her.

_'Why would someone be spooking around the opera house at this hour?' _she thought. _'Maybe the chief of the flies, preparing the scenery for tonight? Or maybe…but no, he disappeared sixteen years ago…didn't he?'_ She was struck by the idea that it might be the Opera Ghost, but Christine had told her that he disappeared. Then again, Aminta couldn't help but think of that night when she lost her sight…just before, at her mother's performance, she had seen a dark figure in Box 5. And Meg, despite Christine asking her not to, had told Aminta everything she knew about the "strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera", and that was considerable. She had also said that mysterious notes still popped up occasionally (though they were not cast aside so easily now). Maybe He was still there.

"Strange…she reminds me of Christine," mused a deep voice from above her. Aminta couldn't suppress a small shiver at the sound of his voice. She suddenly realized that her eyes were opening slowly. Seeing as she was lying with her back to the door, and she couldn't see anyway, this wasn't really a problem. It was just unnerving to never know when your eyes are open or closed. Her neck was beginning to hurt from lying in the same position for so long, and she shifted slightly. In doing so, however, she had to unstick her cheek from her sleeve, which hurt more than she had anticipated. She made a small sound, and heard whoever it was behind her move back a little.

_'Damn,'_ she thought. _'Well, he knows I'm awake now. I might as well get up.'_ Slowly, she pushed herself up, shaking her head a little to clear it. As she sat up the cloak slipped off her. Unconsciously she reached for it again and pulled it to her, pulling it around her, taking in its musky, masculine scent. Her eyes flickered around instinctively.

"Who's there?" she said softly, rising to her feet. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, signaling that someone was watching from behind. She spun around with a slight gasp. Whoever was watching her took a step back. _"Monsieur le Fantôme?"_ she asked softly. She heard a deep chuckle.

"Good evening," came that voice again, very politely. "And what brings one so young as you alone to the theatre at this hour? And in my private box, no less."

"Excuse me, I intended to be out of here by the time the performance started tonight," she said. "I didn't think that you would mind."

"I don't. I just didn't expect to find anyone here," the Phantom replied. "Good God, what happened to you?" Aminta frowned, wondering what he meant, then felt a throb in her cheek.

"Oh, that," she said, lowering her eyes. "That's actually the reason I came here."

"Were you attacked?"

"Not exactly. I had a…a bit of a falling-out with my father. I said things I knew would upset him, and he struck me. Unfortunately, he had somehow forgotten that he was holding a penknife in the hand he struck me with."

"Your _father_ did this?"

"It was an accident…"

"Well, it needs attention or it'll become infected."

"Who cares?" she asked sullenly. Cold but gentle fingers brushed a stray strand of hair off her cheek near the gash. She shied away instinctively, having had no warning of the touch.

"I'm sorry," said the Phantom. "Cold hands, I know."

"Cold hands, warm heart," replied Aminta absently. Sensing his surprise, she added, "It's what my mother always says. And I moved away because you surprised me, that's all. I'm sorry for my rudeness."

"I surprised you?" he asked, confused. "I thought you would have seen-"

"I'm blind."

Silence.

"Is this a problem?" she asked, fighting the instinctive, defensive urge to be sarcastic.

"No, not at all! I just didn't realize-" the Phantom's voice trailed off, and Aminta was aware that he was studying her more intently now. "I suppose I should have realized. Your eyes are stunning, but cloudy."

"Thank you?" said Aminta, unsure of what to say. She felt blood dripping from her cheek, giving her the feeling that she was crying blood tears. She brushed at her cheek absently, the way she would to brush away a strand of hair, and hissed when she was rudely reminded of the wide open slash there.

"Careful." Aminta was surprised to hear genuine concern in the Phantom's voice. Why should he care about her, a mere girl who happened to wander into his box?

_'Then again, if he knew who you were…'_ hinted a devilish voice in the back of her mind. Aminta promptly shut it out.

"Here, let me take a closer look," said the Phantom. Aminta nodded, and stood unmoving as he tilted her head gently, examining the wound. "It's deeper than I thought. You're lucky you weren't cut all the way through."

"I suppose." She didn't know why, but she suddenly wished her parents would come rushing in and see her. This would be the ultimate defiance…the ultimate betrayal. She found herself feeling lightheaded and out-of-sorts. Red pain suddenly exploded in her head, causing her to stumble back with a cry. She felt as though she had been slugged in the stomach and stabbed through the skull. Nausea overtook her, but not enough to make her be sick.

"Oh God…" she whispered. "No, not _again_..."

"What's wrong?" asked the Phantom, moving closer.

"It _hurts_…" she whimpered. "It's horrible."

"Then tell it to me."

"Don't leave me alone." In response, she felt two strong arms wrap around her. The room was spinning out of control.

"Don't be afraid. Let me help you."

She took comfort in the gentle, musical voice that wrapped around her as surely as the arms that held her. She fought to regain control of her breathing, and the room slowly righted itself. The nausea and pains subsided, leaving her breathless and tired. She fought both feelings and straightened herself. There was silence for a time.

"Are you all right?"

"I will be." She paused for a moment. "Thank you," she added.

"You're welcome." Another pause. "If you wish, I'll tend to your injury."

Aminta was surprised, but secretly thrilled. "I would greatly appreciate that," she replied politely. She could sense the Phantom's smile as he took her hand. She followed him easily, more sure of her footing than she had ever been since she lost her sight. She was more aware of everything than she had ever been at all. Most of all, she was aware of the blood dripping down her cheek and soaking into her sleeve, which was rather unpleasant. But then she became aware of the most beautiful singing she had ever heard. It actually took her a moment to realize that the Phantom was singing softly. She smiled somewhat foolishly, and let the music fill her mind, clouding out all other thoughts. She became aware that the singing had stopped, which made her feel oddly sad, and she heard the sound of cloth scraping on stone.

"By the way," came the Phantom's voice casually, "what is your name, child?"

"Aminta," Aminta replied. The Phantom dropped her hand abruptly. Everything stopped, simply _stopped_. There was no sound but their breathing. Discomfited by this, Aminta ventured to speak: "You are familiar with the name? As I understand, it's not very common."

"No," he said softly. "I mean, yes, I am familiar with it."

"My mother named me after a character she portrayed once in a magnificent opera many years ago," she continued lightly. "Maybe you are familiar with it? It was called _Don Juan Triumphant_."

"You're Christine's daughter?" he asked softly.

"I am," whispered Aminta, wondering why her voice had been reduced to a whisper. "Christine's and Raoul's." There was a very pregnant pause.

"So…they will have told you about me?" he asked.

"Not really, actually," Aminta replied. "Father didn't want her to. He didn't even want her to tell me about the Angel of Music. I don't know what he was afraid of. Possibly the fact that I have the bad habit of falling in love with fantasies has something to do with it. I do know of you, though, through Meg Giry."

"Yes…she would tell you, wouldn't she," commented the Phantom.

"If you want me to, I'll go…" said Aminta.

"No! No, stay if you wish. Forgive me, I just never thought about Christine having children. All I thought about was her. Besides, I said I would take care of that gash, didn't I? And I will, unless you don't want me to."

"No, I do. That is, if you don't mind."

"I don't." Those cold but always gentle fingers closed around her hand once more. And Aminta followed him without question, descending into the deep darkness with him.


	5. Ici Bas

A/N: Wow, this story has had an even better response than I had hoped! sniffles I luv you guys! Cookies all around! (hands out cookies shaped like Erik's mask and anti-Raoul symbols) (viciously bites off a chunk of Raoul's face off her own cookie) Just pleaz wave a red flag or something if I start getting too schmaltzy, OK? Don't wanna go there.

Disclaimer: I don't own "Lady of Shalott", though I suggest you read it if you have time. It's a very beautiful poem. BTW, 'ici bas' means 'here below'.

_Ici Bas_

Aminta was walking through a dream. It had to be a dream, for so many times had she dreamt it. But there was one tragic difference between her dream and what was happening now: she could see her dreams. That was how she knew that the dream was finally alive. She had always wondered what the underground cellars of the opera house looked like. Meg had described them in wonderful detail, but it wasn't the same as seeing them herself. She closed her eyes and tried to "see" in her mind. Where were they? How had they come here, through the mirror in her mother's dressing-room? They had passed through somewhere that smelled strongly of flowers, so she thought so. She could almost see it: the room bedecked with bouquets, a single rose with a black ribbon tied around it on her vanity, the ethereal voice emanating from the mirror, the mist filling the room, the mirror "dissolving" as the elegant, masked figure guided her through it…

_'And moving thro' a mirror clear_

_That hangs before her all the year,_

_Shadows of the world appear._

_There she sees the highway near_

_Winding down to Camelot'_

"Where did you hear that?" asked the Phantom curiously.

_'Did I say that aloud?'_ wondered Aminta. "My mother used to read me that poem. She told me once, in a moment of confidence, that it reminded her of you…that one phrase…" She stopped, wondering if she had said too much.

"There the river eddy whirls,

And there the surly village-churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls,

Pass onward from Shalott."

Aminta smiled. "You know it too?"

"I have an old book of faerie-tales and poetry," the Phantom replied. "That was one of my favourites. Watch your step." Somehow that didn't sound strange coming from him, and Aminta took care where she walked. She felt the Phantom stop and she followed suit. "Here, come a little closer," he said, guiding her forward. She could hear water lapping on stone. They had reached the lake. Aminta wondered what to do, since she couldn't see to climb into the boat, which was undoubtedly anchored nearby, but she realized that she needn't do anything. She felt the Phantom come closer and gently lift her and place her in the boat. A sudden rocking of the boat signaled that he had climbed in with her. She felt them begin to glide along the water. She smiled and leaned back, trailing her fingers in the water, trying to imagine what it all looked like. Her mother had never been one for details, and her father had refused to talk about it. He seemed to have been doing his utmost to ensure that Aminta never heard anything about the Opera Ghost, nay, even to believe he was real. But she knew. And she believed.

"I wish I could see it," she said wistfully.

"I wish you could too," said the Phantom. Aminta looked at him-or rather, turned in his direction.

"Will you please describe it to me?"

And he did. The misty, dark water, the elegant black boat, the grand stone columns and leering gargoyles that adorned them, the portcullis, the hundreds of candles in their intricate candelabras. All too soon, it seemed, the boat bumped gently against something and the Phantom (she made a mental note to ask what his name was-thinking of him as just "the Phantom" seemed degrading somehow) stepped out and guided her to the landing and then to a seat nearby.

"Wait a moment," he said, and she heard his footfalls fading away. Curious, she reached out tentatively all around herself. Her fingers brushed against something that she, as a pianist, could not fail to recognize, blind or not. A keyboard. She ran her fingers along it lovingly, feeling the pegs that altered the sound, the pitch, finding the second keyboard above the first. Any musician could tell what it was.

"The organ," she said softly. More curious still, she moved her hand up to find the music stand. Parchment rustled at her exploring touch, and she wondered what it was. Did he still write his music anymore?

"Ah, you've found what's left of _Don Juan_."

Aminta turned in surprise. So rapt had she been in trying to "discover" the organ, "see" what it looked like, that she hadn't heard him return.

"What's left of it? What happened to the rest?" she asked.

"The chandelier fell that night," he replied, coming towards her. She heard the sound of a lid coming off and smelled herbs. "It set fire to part of the theatre. _Don Juan_ was lost in the blaze before it was extinguished. Hold still, now." Aminta obeyed, contemplating.

"Mother never told me about a fire. Ouch! That stings."

"Good. It's supposed to. Christine probably didn't want to worry you."

"Why would she? She's been though worse…" she froze for a moment as she realized what she had said. "No, I didn't mean…"

"I know what you meant. Hold still, I'm almost done."

Aminta gritted her teeth, trying not to flinch as a bandage was somehow secured to her cheek.

"There. How does that feel?"

"It doesn't hurt as much anymore."

"Good. That means the medicine is working."

Aminta was silent for a moment. She was beginning to feel oddly light-headed and sleepy. The strong, but not unpleasant, smell of herbs was filling her head. She blinked rapidly out of instinct, trying to clear her head.

"So…what's your name?" she asked, thinking she would ask before she forgot or he took her back above. He seemed surprised, but not displeased.

"Erik," he replied.

"Erik," repeated Aminta, smiling. "I like that. It means 'forever strong, ever-ruling, powerful'."

"How do you know that?" Erik asked.

"I have a fascination with names, and what they mean," replied Aminta. "I don't know why, really. I just do." Everything was spinning all around her, and not being able to see it was making her dizzy.

"Are you all right?" Erik asked.

"Tired," mumbled Aminta. "Dizzy…" She felt the room lurch forward, then realized that she had fallen into Erik's arms. Her eyes closed, and she knew no more.


	6. Notes

A/N: OMG, I cannot believe the response this has gotten! 10 reviews in one night! Aaaaaaaaaawwwww, you guys are gonna make me cry...but in the best possible way! And hey, you want updates, you get updates, I have 12 completed chapters all ready for ya! After that, though, I'm afraid you'll have to take them as I write them...but I spend the most time on this one so they should come as quickly as I can manage with schoolwork. More cookies for all (bites Raoul's face off again)!

Notes

_Vicomte-_

_Do not fear for your Aminta. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. No harm will come to her. I shall return her to you when she wakes._

_O.G._

In frustrated rage, Raoul silently crumpled and shredded the note he had found in his box. He had guessed that Aminta would run to the theatre after their fight, but he had never dreamed that she would meet the Phantom. He hadn't even thought he was still there! Grinding his teeth in exasperation, he gazed down upon Christine as she sang, occasionally glancing up at him. How would he explain this to her? He wouldn't, he resolved. At intermission, he would go down and find Aminta and bring her back. The Phantom had almost taken Christine. He would _not_ have Aminta!

* * *

Erik smiled to himself as he laid Aminta gently in the bed in the room above the organ room. He wasn't exactly sure he had meant to make her pass out, but he couldn't honestly say he hadn't either. He had known that the fumes from the medicine he had applied to her cheek would make her drowsy, possibly make her pass out, yet he hadn't replaced the lid on the jar. Well, she hadn't seemed afraid of him at least, and she had been trying to get away from her parents. She was perfectly safe with him. Plus, he didn't need to worry that she, like her mother, would be so curious to see him that she would strip off his mask when he was distracted. Still, he knew that Raoul was impetuous enough to come down again to find her, and would probably end up getting himself killed through a misstep that would trigger one of his traps. Briefly tugging the cord that would lower the veil around the bed, Erik went to his desk nearby and wrote a note. He was hesitant to leave Aminta alone in his lair, but she wouldn't wake for a while. She had been tired before he found her anyway. Most likely, she would sleep the night through. 

_'Besides, I won't be long,'_ he thought. Nodding slightly to himself, he took the fastest route up to the box he knew Raoul would be sitting in for that night's performance, left the note, and came swiftly back. Aminta hadn't even moved when he went and looked in on her, she was so deeply asleep. Because of this, Erik allowed himself to stand there gazing at her, contemplating her.

"You look so much like Christine," he said softly, "but nothing like Raoul. I wonder why that is?" He smiled darkly to himself at some private thought. "Well, good-night little angel." So saying, he turned and left her alone, returning to his organ and playing softly for a while.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Christine, I'm going after her!" 

"Raoul, be sensible about this. You'd be killed! Even if you made it all the way down to his lair, he'd kill you."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"Wait."

"I can't just _wait!_ You know what he's capable of, what he could do to her…"

"He said she'd be safe. He has no reason to hurt her. Besides, I doubt she'd be willing to go with you considering what happened."

"I don't want to hear about what happened! It was an accident, I simply made a mistake…"

"A _mistake!_ Raoul, you nearly sliced half her face off! If she were me, _I_ wouldn't want to go with you! He won't hurt her, Raoul."

"Why are you defending him? You should be concerned for our daughter!"

"I _am_ concerned for her! But you won't help her by charging down there and getting yourself hurt."

Raoul growled in frustration for the second time that night. At intermission he had gone to Christine's dressing-room with every intention of smashing the mirror and going down to the Phantom's lair that way. However, Christine had been there when he arrived. While she was startled and a little worried about the note he showed her, she insisted that he not go after her.

"Christine, be sensible. Do you honestly think he'll just let her go? He'll just give her back to us that easily? I learned the hard way that nothing is that simple concerning him."

"Raoul, just stop. I won't let you go down there. You can't! You'll do more harm than good, I'm certain. Besides, are you sure that you want to do this for her?"

"What are you insinuating?"

"I only think that you're just trying to use this as an excuse to exact the revenge I know you've wanted ever since that fateful night."

_"What!_ You honestly think I'm _that_ vindictive?"

"Yes."

Raoul gave a strangled cry of anger and turned away from her towards the mirror. He could have sworn he saw someone behind it. Then again, he was probably just imagining it. "I can't just wait around here, Christine. If she's not back by the end of tonight's performance, I'm going after her."

Christine sighed. "I suppose there's nothing I can do to stop you. Just promise that you'll be careful, and you won't get yourself killed." Raoul smiled humourlessly.

"I'll do my best."

The performance continued, but Raoul couldn't enjoy it. He kept staring across the theatre at Box 5, waiting to see that black silhouette appear again. But it didn't come. The performance ended, and there was no sign of either Aminta or the Phantom. Resolved, he looked down at Christine as she took her bow. She was looking at him. He simply gave a curt nod and left. Somehow, Christine managed to beat him back to her dressing-room again.

"Raoul, I'm asking you for the last time to reconsider your actions," she said.

"I made a mistake tonight when I lashed out at our daughter," said Raoul. "I'm not going to make the mistake of leaving her in the hands of a dangerous murderer." So saying, he turned to the mirror and took up a candlestick, preparing to smash the glass.

"Wait!" said Christine, placing her hand on his arm. "If you're going to go, you might as well not shatter my mirror and leave me to try and explain to the management." She went over and slid her fingers into the side of the mirror, little by little wiggling it out until she could slide it open easily. "Go quickly, and come back safely." Raoul kissed her quickly and hurried down the dark corridor.

* * *

Erik didn't even look up when the alarm bell sounded, signaling that there was an intruder in his domain. He had figured this would happen. Maybe that's why he let Aminta inhale the fumes from the medicine, so she wouldn't wake up when this happened. He heard someone sloshing through the water, but even then he didn't look up. He didn't need to. He knew who was there. 

"Phantom!" shouted Raoul from behind the portcullis.

"Ah Vicomte," said Erik coolly, as though he had been expecting him. "And what brings you down here once again? Come to make peace, have you?"

"You know as well as I do why I'm here!" Raoul spat angrily. "What have you done with my daughter?"

"Tended to her injury and given her a place to sleep where she can feel safe," Erik replied.

"Liar," growled Raoul. "Aminta! AMINTA!"

"Stop yelling, you'll wake her," said Erik sternly.

"That's the point. Aminta!"

Up in the room above them, though they did not know it, Aminta stirred in her sleep. Someone was calling to her, disrupting her dreams, disturbing her peaceful sleep. Who was it? It wasn't Erik, that much she knew. But then who…? She groaned inwardly as she realized who it must be.

"Father," she mumbled, sitting up slowly. "Why can't he ever just leave me alone?" She reached out slowly, trying to find the edge of the bed. Her searching fingers eventually found the side and the curtain around it. Carefully she pushed the curtain out of the way and climbed out of the bed. She wished she had her walking-stick with her, but she had to make do without it. She proceeded slowly, reaching out before her until she found the wall. Running her hand along it, she made her way towards the voices she heard arguing. The smell of candle smoke and the sound of water came to her. They seemed oddly beneath her, so she guessed that the room she had been in was above the one where Erik had first brought her. Not wishing to fall down the stairs, wherever they were, she stood silently, listening. She didn't have to wait long.

"Aminta! Oh my child, are you all right?" came her father's relieved voice. Aminta fought to keep from sneering.

"Yes, no thanks to you," she said scathingly.

"Aminta, I'm so sorry about what happened, but I didn't mean-" he began.

"I don't want to hear it!" she snapped. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I came to find you," stammered Raoul.

"You mean to _save_ me," said Aminta coldly.

"That's what I thought," commented Erik.

"No one asked you!" snapped Raoul.

"No one needs to," replied Erik. "You are in _my_ house. I can speak when I wish."

"Aminta, listen to me," pleaded Raoul. "Don't you realize the danger you're in? He's a murderer!"

"You say murder, I say poetic justice," answered Aminta caustically. Erik laughed delightedly.

"I only want to protect you," continued Raoul, as though no one had spoken. "What else would you have me do? I am your father, I am your guardian, I am your protector-"

"You are an _idiot!_" shouted Aminta. She heard the water churn slightly as her father stepped back in surprise at this. "Do you hear me? You care for nothing but your own image, always determined to be the tragic hero whom everyone falls in love with."

"How can you say this?" asked Raoul softly.

"I've lived with you all my life," said Aminta angrily. "I know you. You don't care at all about me because I am not the daughter you always wanted. You want a precious little princess who always does what she's told when she's told to do it, complacent, obedient. You want a _dog_, not a living, thinking child of your own. You-aaahhh!" As she had been speaking (or ranting, depending on how you think of it) she had been carefully making her way down the stairs, leaning on the wall. However, her foot slipped and she fell. She waited for the impact, but it didn't come. She quickly realized why. Erik had caught her. He guided her down the last few steps, holding her up.

"Are you all right?" he asked in concern.

"Don't touch her!" shouted Raoul.

"Would you rather I had let her fall, then?" demanded Erik.

"I'm all right," said Aminta. "Just surprised. I'm fine."

"Good." Erik guided her to the organ bench and she sat down.

"Aminta? Aminta, come back with me," said Raoul. He wasn't asking her. "Your mother and I are worried about you."

"I don't want to," she said before she could stop herself. She turned to Erik, who was still standing near her. "I want to stay with you." It was then that Aminta learned the difference between silence and utter silence. Everything seemed to have stopped. She couldn't even hear the sound of her own breathing.

"Aminta-" Raoul finally ventured to speak.

"Why not?" asked Erik. "She's quite welcome here, and I enjoy her company."

"Only because she cannot see the monster you truly are!" said Raoul coldly. Erik simply shrugged.

"As you are in no position to say otherwise," he said, "I'd say that the decision rests with Aminta. If she wishes to stay, she can stay. There's really nothing you can do about it." Aminta smiled.

"Why you-Aminta, listen to me," said Raoul.

"I have listened," she replied. "You talk and talk, and yet you say nothing. I have made my choice."

"I'm not leaving here without you!" Raoul declared.

"All right, how about this," Erik interjected. "I'll return her again by tomorrow night's performance. Until then, she stays with me."

"All right," said Aminta without hesitation. She could almost see her father going purple with rage, but there was nothing he could do.

"Fine," he said, and she could tell he was gritting his teeth, something she found very unattractive. "But if you harm one hair on her head, I'll-"

"Did you think that I would harm her?" asked Erik mildly. "Why would I? I've already told you, I'll keep her safe. Now, I suggest you go back the way you came." Raoul made a sound like he was going to say something else, but changed his mind. A few moments later, Aminta heard the water sloshing as her father left slowly. Finally the sound faded away completely. Once it had, she sighed.

"I'm sorry if I was a little presumptuous, but-"

"There's no need to apologize," Erik interrupted her smoothly. "It's all right. Would you like me to help you back upstairs?"

"Actually, I'd rather listen to you play for a while," she said with a shyness that was most unlike her. "That is, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." He guided her over to the stairs where she sat to listen, then returned to his organ and began to play. Aminta was immediately lost in the music. She closed her eyes and let the music paint pictures in her mind. It was almost like seeing again, and she didn't want it to stop. She had no idea how long she sat there listening, but it seemed that years had passed before she realized that the music had stopped and Erik was helping her sit up, as she had apparently fallen asleep lying back on the steps.

"It's very late," he said gently, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "You're tired. Come." She stood, leaning on his arm and let him guide her upstairs. Years later, she would still wonder what happened then but she never knew for sure. The next thing she knew, she had lost her footing somehow and fell backwards, striking her head hard on the stairs, hard enough too "see" stars in the endless blackness that blanketed her eyes. She was too stunned to even cry out in pain. She just lay there, thoroughly shaken and scared. She thought for an instant that she had split her skull and was dead, but then realized that if she were she wouldn't be thinking it. She felt herself being lifted, and realized that Erik was holding her, calling to her. She made a sound in response. It seemed to reassure him somewhat. He picked her up and carried her back upstairs, telling her that she mustn't fall asleep yet. She had to stay awake for a while.

"You might be concussing," he explained. "I'll let you sleep in a little while, but I'll be waking you up every hour just to make sure you're all right."

"OK," she mumbled. Her head was throbbing like the devil, and all she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew that Erik was right. She thought that her eyes kept opening and closing, but she wasn't sure.

"Stay awake, Aminta," he said. "Talk to me. Just don't fall asleep yet."

"My head hurts," she said stupidly, then mentally berated herself for saying so. Obviously her head hurt! "Erik…I have a question."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Would you…would you have helped me if I could see?"

Once again, utter silence descended.

"I…I don't know," he finally said. "Probably. I'm not so heartless that I'll leave a bleeding, frightened girl all alone when she obviously needs help." Aminta didn't know if she was entirely convinced by this, but she was satisfied.

"Are you wearing your mask now?" she asked. She knew that her questions were surprising, maybe even hurting Erik, but she had to know.

"No."

"I see," she said. "Or, rather, I don't." Erik laughed a little, as did she. For a short while longer they talked, until Aminta couldn't fight the heaviness of sleep that was weighing down on her eyes and Erik permitted her to fall asleep, saying he would wake her again in an hour. Aminta could feel her eyes closing, though the blackness, she knew, was always the same. But just before she lost consciousness, she could have sworn that she truly_ saw_ something-some fleeting swirl of real colour through the blackness.


	7. Out of the Darkness

A/N: Wow, now you guys are giving _me_ cookies! And yes, reviewing _does_ get you more chapters, that's the way I like to do things. OK then, one fresh chapter of "Masque" served, and I just put a fresh batch of Phantom cookies in the oven!

Disclaimer: I don't own _"Ici Bas"_, that would belong to the late Gabriel Fauré

Out of the Darkness

It was a long night for both of them. Erik had to be awake to wake up Aminta every hour, and she couldn't sleep well in between times anyway. Her dreams were haunted and strange, filled with demons who laughed at her because they tricked her into thinking she could see again, truly see, and then abruptly pulling away the illusion, leaving her crying at their wicked deception. More often than not, she woke up before Erik went to wake her. And every time, it seemed that those swirls of colour she swore she had seen before reappeared. By and by, they began to stay in her "vision", if that's what you could call it, until she admitted to herself that they really were there, and she wasn't just imagining them. Once she had, they began to take rough shapes, smoky outlines of the objects around her. These began to sharpen slowly. Every time she woke up again, they were just a little sharper, just a little easier to discern. And she finally dared to hope that he dearest wish was finally coming true.

Her sight was returning.

She didn't want to think of it at first, for fear that reality would be that she was only imagining it because of the fall and she would lose her mind if that happened. But it was true. When she opened her eyes and could see things almost clearly, as though looking through a film over her eyes, she allowed herself to believe that she was seeing, really seeing for the first time in ten years. And the longer she closed her eyes, the better she could see when she opened them again. She wanted to dance and shout for joy, but then a thought came to her. She knew she should tell Erik, but she also knew that if she did he would act differently around her. He might not even want her around anymore. She resolved to pretend that she still couldn't see, just for a while. She would tell him eventually, but she had to do something first.

She had to see him, as he really was.

The thought made her feel guilty, like she was stealing something that she had been entrusted to protect, but she had to, just once, and then she'd tell him she could see again and he'd never have to know. It seemed that her head hurt even more in retribution for what she was planning, but she ignored it. At least six hours had passed; Erik had woken her six times. She had woken innumerable times in between, but he had never been there when she had. Sometimes she heard him playing his organ very softly, or moving around in a room further back in the lair, but never once did he pass through her room when she was awake unless he was waking her. Feeling how exhausted she was, she wondered how tired he must feel, and another stab of guilt struck her.

_'But this wasn't my fault…was it? What happened anyway?'_ she wondered. Well, she supposed it didn't really matter. Her head hurt too much to think about it. Eventually it seemed to stop hurting, but she found she was sorely mistaken in thinking this when she tried to sit upright. Pain exploded in her head, making her fall back with a small groan.

_"OK, sitting up's out of the question right now,'_ she thought. She contented herself with looking around at what she could see from where she lay. This time there was no veil around the bed, so she could see better. The bed was huge, much bigger than she had thought, and shaped like a swan. Since the sides were a little high from her perspective she couldn't see much around her that wasn't taller than the bed. She lay there for a while, contemplating, then dared to try and sit up again, this time very, painstakingly slowly. Her head throbbed a little, but it was endurable. Once again she looked all around. She saw the small desk nearby, a wardrobe against one wall, a nightstand next to the bed, the music box that her mother told her about. And then she realized that she might not have to feel so guilty about her desire to see Erik unmasked.

He was asleep in a chair nearby.

She managed to choke back a gasp when she saw him. She didn't know what she had expected to see, really, so she didn't know why she was so surprised. She stared at him in a terribly impolite way, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. At length, she shook herself slightly and silently scolded herself for her disgusting display of what she didn't want to call fear. It wasn't fear, and it wasn't disgust, it was surprise, that was all. But now that she had collected herself, she realized there was no reason to stare in such a vulgar manner. Her eyes softened as she gazed at him, taking in carefully what she saw: the twisted, puckered flesh, the slightly sagging eye, the thinnish light-coloured hair. But there was also his high cheekbones, strong clefted chin, and the subtle hint of a smile that played about his lips. He didn't really look like the Opera Ghost was described as either, dressed all in black like a living shadow, but rather as a man would in his private study, comfortably dressed in black leggings and shoes and a loose, ruffled white shirt, partially opened in the front revealing his muscular chest which Aminta tried not to look at. Overall, she didn't she why the silly chorus girls told her he was a living corpse, a skeleton with a death's head. Some even said he had interchangeable heads! Laughable. He really was very attractive, once you got used to his…she hesitated to say "deformity" because it made it sound so much worse than it truly was. She smiled at him and lay back down again, because the throbbing in her head had increased to a noticeable pain. She closed her eyes again and, still smiling, fell asleep again.

When she woke again, it was of her own volition and Erik was nowhere to be seen. She found herself somewhat saddened by this, missing him. Well, he'd be back sooner or later. In the meantime, her head wasn't hurting as much, and she soon found herself able to sit upright without the least inconvenience. She longed to get up and explore, but she couldn't risk Erik coming back and finding her, and it would be somehow dishonest, wandering around his domain without his permission. She didn't want to accidentally wander somewhere she didn't belong. So she waited patiently, winding up the music box a few times, telling herself stories to amuse herself. After a while, she became aware of something pressing into her leg. Curious, she reached into her pants pocket and pulled out one of her most prized possessions: a Christmas tree ornament shaped like a mask, a gift from her mother last Christmas. She had never seen it before, though Christine had described it to her and she had formed a picture of it in her mind after holding it for a while. But it was different than actually seeing. She smiled and found herself automatically turning it over and over in her hands, running her fingers all over it as she did-as she _had­_-when she was blind. It was a beautiful ornament: a ceramic, or maybe porcelain mask painted gold with a shimmery crimson ruffle around the outside edge except along the bottom, gold wire entwined with a crimson cord around the entire edge, a butterfly made of gold beads on the right side, a rose made of gold ribbon on the left, with two crimson feathers dangling from it, and decorative squiggles of glittery gold paint around the eyeholes. Still smiling, she closed her eyes and sang softly to herself:

_Ici bas _

_Tous les lilas meurent,_

_Tous les chants des oiseaux sont courts,_

_Je rêve aux étés qui demeurent toujours!_

_Ici bas _

_Les lèvres effleurent _

_Sans rien laisser de leur velours,_

_Je rêve aux baisers qui demeurent toujours!_

_Ici bas, _

_Tous les hommes pleurent_

_Leurs amitiés ou leurs amours;_

_Je rêve aux couples qui demeurent_

_Aux couples qui demeurent_

_Qui demeurent toujours!_

(Translation-not literal)

Here below

Lilacs die,

And never is bird song more than short refrain

I dream of summer days

That forever remain!

Here below

Where lips lightly sever

And leave no trace of beauty's reign

I dream of kisses fond

That forever remain!

Here below

Men in vain endeavor

Weep for their love's or friendship's pain

I dream of lovers who forever

Of lovers who forever

Who forever remain!

She had never much cared for her voice, seeing as how it couldn't compare with her mother's but somehow it didn't matter here. As her soft, breathy voice faded away into the stone, she just sat, her eyes still closed, just holding her mask ornament and smiling.

"What's that?"

She looked up in surprise, only just remembering not to look directly at Erik but more through him, in a way. "It's a present from my mother. Every year she gets me a new Christmas ornament. This was last year's."

"It's very pretty," said Erik. "May I see it?"

"Certainly," replied Aminta, holding it out vaguely in his general direction. He took it from her carefully and she relinquished it once she was sure he had a good grip on it. While he was looking at it, she looked at him again. He now wore his mask again, and his hair was jet black (a wig, undoubtedly). He looked a bit more like the fearsome Phantom now, but she couldn't bring herself to think of him that way. She didn't want to. In fact, he actually looked quite handsome. She dared risk a look at his eyes, and saw, to her great surprise, that they looked just like hers…at least, what she remembered hers looking like. She wondered what she looked like now. The last time she had seen herself she had been a small, chubby-cheeked six-year-old with short, bobbed brown hair, a rosy complexion, sapphire eyes, and no figure to speak of. She knew her hair was much longer now; she hadn't allowed anyone to cut it and it now spilled over her shoulders and down to the small of her back. It was darker than she remembered too. Seeing that Erik was finished looking at her little treasure, she averted her gaze and stared off into space.

"It's beautiful," he said, touching the back of her hand with it lightly. She felt around for it and took it back.

"It's one of my favourites," she said. "This and a frosted-glass rose. That one I've had for a while; I know what it looks like. Mother described this one to me well, so I think I have a good idea of what it looks like." She saw Erik smiling out of the corner of her eye.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Less like I've been smashed in the head by a sledgehammer," she replied with a smile.

"That's always a good thing," laughed Erik. "You're probably hungry too."

For the first time, Aminta realized she was. "Yes, a little." She pushed herself up, trying to remember not to act like she could see. Erik helped her climb out of the bed and stand up. "What time is it?"

"Rather late in the day," replied Erik. "Almost five. I just went to Christine's dressing-room to find a nice dress for you to wear this evening. But first, dinner." So saying, he led her into another room and guided her to a chair at a small table. "I'll be right back." And he turned and started towards an adjoining room. Aminta watched him go, and noticed a loose stone slightly raised above the others just before him.

"Watch your step!" she said without thinking. Erik paused and looked down.

"Oh, thank-" he began, then stopped and turned slowly to face her. "Aminta?"

She couldn't look at him. "Yes?"

"Can you…can you _see?"_

Aminta couldn't answer. "I...I, uh..."

Erik didn't wait for her to find her tongue, but took her arm and pulled her somewhat roughly to a nearby candelabrum. Aminta had to shut her eyes against the bright light, giving Erik all the answer he needed.

"You can see," he said slowly. "How?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "It just happened after I fell. You're hurting my arm."

"I'm sorry," he said, somewhat distantly, as he released her. "Why didn't you tell me? Wait, you didn't see…"

"Yes," she said softly. Erik just stared at her with a betrayed look. "I had to know. I had to see for myself."

"Was it what you wanted to see?" demanded Erik, and she knew he was upset.

"Yes," she replied indifferently. Seeing his surprise, she added, "Erik, I don't care what you look like! I don't let that change the way I think of you."

"And what do you think I am?" he asked a little coldly. Aminta looked at him in mild surprise.

"A man," she answered. "A sad, lonely man who just want acceptance in the world." After a thoughtful pause, she added, "I think you are my friend." Erik hadn't expected this and stepped back in wonder, just staring at her. She looked back at him and sighed sadly, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I was afraid of that. I'll go if you want me to."

"No," said Erik. "I want you to stay." Aminta looked up, tears in her eyes.

"Erik, I'm sorry I-"

"It's all right. I forgive you." For a moment Aminta thought he was going to hug her, but he only squeezed her shoulder gently, smiling at her. She returned the smile. "Now, let's have dinner."


	8. Restitution

A/N: Yippee, I get soda now! Sugar High City, here I come! Oh, right, new chapter. Fresh Phantom cookies for all! (skips around tossing cookies in the air) Tra la la la laaaaaaa!

Restitution

Aminta wasn't sure what she was eating-Erik told her it was a Persian stew of some sort-but she enjoyed it. She thought of what Meg and the other silly ballet-rats would say if she told them that she had enjoyed a pleasant dinner with the Phantom of the Opera, and couldn't help but laugh. The two had a lively conversation on various topics, and Aminta was a little sorry when they had both finished. After clearing their dishes, Erik showed Aminta to a room where she could freshen up and take a bath. She thanked him and he left her. The bathroom was opulent, all black marble and softly lit by numerous candles in sconces on the walls. Hanging on a hook was a soft robe (and just her size too, now fancy that!) and a towel. Aminta was looking at these when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye (she loved being able to say things like that again). Turning, she saw that there was a huge mirror on the wall opposite the bathtub. She had seen her own reflection briefly. Curious to see what she looked like, she went towards it. She gasped when she saw herself. She had expected to look different, but not like this. She was tall, taller than she had thought, and slender, rather shapely even. Her eyes, under slanting eyebrows, were like sapphires set in alabaster, for her skin was nearly white from lack of exposure to the sun over the last ten years. Her lips were full, though slightly chapped, and deep red, stark contrast to her skin. She had high cheekbones, like her mother. Her hair was thicker, darker, and longer than ever. She pulled it back briefly to see what it looked like when tied up. She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were long and slender, and moved very quickly. She looked up at her face again, this time noticing the long flesh-coloured bandage over the gash her father had given her. Slowly she reached up and pulled it off, wincing at the slight pain. The wound was still bright red, but closed now. It covered nearly her entire cheek, and she marveled that it hadn't pierced all the way through. All in all, she wasn't a ravishing beauty like Christine, but she wasn't unattractive either.

"Is that really me?" she whispered, reaching out tentatively, with a shaking hand, to the mirror. The girl in the glass reached back to her, and their cold hands touched. Aminta had always had perpetually cold hands. The girl in the glass stared at her with wide eyes, just as Aminta stared back. Slowly she smiled, and the girl smiled back attractively.

_'That's me, all right,'_ thought Aminta, relaxing. _'But I look so different than I remember! I wonder why Mother and Father didn't tell me. I wonder what Erik thinks-'_ She shook her head. She didn't want to think like that. Just as she didn't care what Erik looked like, she didn't want to know if he cared what she looked like. She turned back to the bathtub, which had been filling all the while, and poured some rose-scented bubble bath into the water. It bubbled up immediately, filling the room with a warm, heady fragrance. Despite its size, the tub filled quickly and Aminta soon found herself slipping into delightfully hot water and mounds of floral-scented foam. She sighed, soaking in the water until it started going cold. She finished her bath, let the water out of the tub, and dried off with the soft bath towel, wrapping herself in the bathrobe when she finished. Her hair she had to wring out repeatedly with the towel, considering its thickness, and she still couldn't dry it very much. Finally it was dried to the point where it at least wouldn't drip down her back, though it was still quite damp, and she went out.

Erik was nowhere to be seen, but there was a beautiful evening gown of varying shades of blue laid out on her bed, dressy shoes on the floor beneath the skirt. She smiled as she recognized the gown. It was one of her mother's. Well, at this point they were probably about the same size anyway. She got dressed, laying the robe out on the bed, and soon discovered a hairbrush and small vial of perfume nearby on a vanity she hadn't seen before. She brushed out her long hair and dabbed a little perfume on her neck and wrists. That done, she went to find Erik. At least, she intended to. However, he made himself known to her, intentionally or not. Organ music floated up to her, and she realized where he must be. Smiling she went out onto the landing above the stairs and stopped, looking all around. She hadn't yet gotten to see this part of Erik's lair. Here was the ominous portcullis, the candelabras rising out of the water, the shattered mirrors, the infamous organ, and, most importantly, the enigmatic shadow-figure seated there in his dress-clothes playing unearthly beautiful music. She gazed around herself in wonder, taking in all there was to see. Down below here, anchored to an iron ring in the stone, was the boat that had ferried her and, sixteen years prior, her mother to this dark world of magic and music. She shivered with delight. This was the sort of thing she lived for, the darkness, the night, mystery, intrigue, _adventure_. She hadn't made a sound, but Erik stopped playing and turned around after a moment. She smiled at him and he returned the smile after giving her a brief look of surprise.

"Forgive me; I thought you were Christine for a moment," he said as she descended the stone stairs.

"Do I look that much like her?" asked Aminta.

"More like her than your father," Erik answered. "We still have time before the performance; at least an hour."

"Good," said Aminta. "That'll give my hair time to dry. Do you mind if I sit and listen?"

"Of course not." Smiling, he made a graceful gesture for her to make herself comfortable before turning back to the organ. Then he paused for a moment.

"By the by, how old are you?" he asked.

"Um, what's today?"

"Monday the twenty-second."

"Then I'll be sixteen in three days."

"Almost a woman, then."

Aminta smiled and sat down a few stairs from the bottom, near another candelabrum in the hopes that the heat from the candle flames would dry her thick hair faster. Erik began to play again, and she lost herself in his music. She sat with a dreamy smile on her face for a while, just listening. Erik stopped after a while, scribbling something on a sheet of parchment and Aminta took that time to go back upstairs briefly and retrieve a few things before returning back to her seat on the steps. If Erik had noticed her leave, he made no mention of it. He simply resumed playing again, and Aminta began to draw on the paper she had brought down with her. So rapt was she in the music and her drawing that she didn't realize how much time had elapsed until she became aware that the music had stopped. She glanced up and saw Erik smiling at her.

"What are you drawing?" he asked curiously.

"A dream," she replied. "One I've had many times. It used to be that all I wanted to do was sleep so I could dream it again."

"Interesting," said Erik. "Well, it's time to go." Aminta set aside her drawing and took Erik's hand when he offered it to her. The portcullis raised itself, seemingly of its own accord, once they were both in the boat. Aminta wondered how it had, then realized that she didn't want to know. Knowing would spoil the mystery. She gazed all around as they glided across the lake. Everything was just as Erik had described it, but seeing it all was so much better than just hearing it. All too soon, it seemed, they had reached the other side and Erik was offering his hand to help her step out. She gazed around as Erik secured the boat to a metal ring, and made a soft sound of delight when she saw a beautiful white horse standing patiently nearby. She had always loved horses dearly, and was a skilled rider (though her father objected to her riding astraddle, saying it wasn't ladylike). She hadn't ridden much since the accident that took her sight, as that would mean she'd have to have a guide. She never liked riding in a group; she much preferred to ride out alone and go wherever she, or her mount, wished to go and return when she wished. Now she approached the horse slowly, maintaining eye contact. She reached out and gently stroked its neck; it shivered happily, nuzzling her. She smiled and continued to stroke it until Erik came over.

"I assume you like horses, then?" he asked.

"You would assume correctly," she replied with a light little laugh. Erik just smiled as he lifted her onto the horse's back and led it on their dark path. Aminta gazed all around again, taking in with great interest what she saw. Her mother had told her about this, when her father wasn't there to stop her, she had told Aminta about Erik having stolen one of the stage horses to carry her part of the way down to his lair.

_'I wonder what she saw,'_ thought Aminta. _'She was probably too awed by being in the presence of her Angel of Music to look around properly. Did she really see any of this?'_ Everything was beautiful and strange to a girl who had walked in darkness for ten years. Everything, even the cobwebs and scuttling spiders on the walls, was beautiful. Her eyes actually felt like they _hurt_ from seeing so much! But she didn't care. It didn't matter.

She rode a long way, it seemed. From what she had felt when Erik had first led her down here, it seemed that they should have stopped by now. But she didn't question Erik. She knew that he knew what he was doing, and she trusted him. She was aware of him glancing up at her from time to time to make sure she was all right, but her attention was always elsewhere. Finally they stopped just outside a dark doorway and Erik lifted her down gently and, taking her hand, guided her down the corridor. The corridor, she found, was only darkened at the entrance; the rest was lit by many candles in intricate sconces on the walls. There wasn't much to see, but still Aminta gazed all around, taking in everything there was to see. The passage ended at a door, barely discernable in the shadows.

"Wait here a moment," said Erik softly, "I will see if it's safe to go out yet." Aminta nodded and Erik slipped through the door. It opened again a moment later and Erik reached out for her hand, which she placed in his and let him guide her out with him. She knew immediately where they were, despite the almost complete lack of light. They were in Box 5, the Ghost's Box. She smiled as Erik guided her to a seat, taking the seat next to her. Erik had impeccable timing; the performance was just beginning. In the darkness of the theatre no one could see them emerge from the door in the wall and take their seats. Aminta gazed on the performance intensely, as though she only had this one night to see again and she had to see all she could before she lost it. When Christine appeared onstage, though Aminta hadn't seen her for ten years, she knew her immediately.

"Mother," she whispered. She looked up at the box on the opposite tier and saw her father there. Christine's gaze often flicked up to his box briefly, as though looking for some sign. Aminta knew why. She was looking for her. Aminta couldn't wait to see her again, really _see_ her again. She was just as beautiful as Aminta remembered, even from a distance. Glancing at Erik, she saw that he was also gazing at Christine with a sad sort of look in his eyes.

_'He still loves her,'_ she thought. _'I know it.'_ The entr'acte came all too soon, but Aminta used the time to think for a while. She wondered why her mother hadn't been able to love Erik as he loved her. Was she really _that_ superficial? No, there had to be something more. Well, murdering Joseph Buquet like he had, just dropping the garroted body down from the catwalks right in the middle of the performance admittedly was unpleasant, but he was an unpleasant man. Buquet, not Erik. Then again, her mother had always been easily frightened. She remembered once when Christine had found her holding a spider and shrieked loudly, startling Aminta. She had, in anger and frustration, shouted at her mother to "for God's sake, get yourself a backbone!" and deeply regretted it later that night. She still regretted it, even though Christine had forgiven her.

"Aminta, did Christine ever tell you…why she chose Raoul instead of me?" asked Erik. "I mean, I think I know, but I was so certain that she loved me before. What went wrong?" Aminta looked at him in surprise, then thoughtfully.

"Did you _tell_ her you loved her?" she asked.

"Yes, at the end."

"You probably would have done well to tell her that from the beginning. And, ah, Joseph Buquet…"

"What about him?"

"Not to say that society isn't better off without him, but dropping a garroted corpse down from the rafters is really not the best idea. Mother thought it was a warning, that you were saying you would kill Father if they weren't careful. Other than that, I really don't know. Like I said, they rarely talked about you."

There was silence for a time, save for the audience milling about below them, stretching their legs for the next act.

"Erik?"

"Hmm?"

"What…what exactly happened on the night of…of _Don Juan_? What was the 'famous disaster'?"

Erik looked at her in surprise for a moment, then smiled. "I should have thought you'd ask. You deserve to know." And he told it all: killing Piangi behind the curtain and taking his place as Don Juan, performing "Point of No Return" with Christine, Christine tearing his mask off right there on the stage, bringing the chandelier down and taking Christine to his lair, Raoul coming to save her, making her choose between saving Raoul's life and ending her days with him or refusing him and thus killing Raoul, the kiss that answered it all, telling them to leave together, Christine giving him the ring Raoul had given her, smashing the mirrors in a fit of passion, escaping the mob through a passage hidden behind one.

Once again, silence.

"But you still haunt the opera house," said Aminta. "So why hasn't anyone tried to enter your lair again?"

"Ah," said Erik approvingly. "Because they never found my lair. Only little Giry did, and she never told. The others all _thought_ they had found it, but in fact they only found my makeshift lairs. I had prepared for something like this years ago by furnishing several other areas of the subterranean world beneath the opera house to look like some sort of living arrangement when they were nothing, really."

"Clever," commented Aminta. Erik smiled and looked like he was going to say something, but the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the second act. Aminta's mind wasn't on the opera anymore; she had other things to think about. Finally she just decided to think about them later and enjoy the performance now. Her mother brought the audience to its feet, showering the stage with roses. She was smiling brightly as she took her bow, but Aminta could see through the façade. She was still worried. Well, she wouldn't have to be soon. Erik touched her arm lightly and motioned for her to follow him when she looked up. He led her down several more corridors until they came up behind a two-way mirror that looked into a dressing-room full of flowers. Aminta knew whose it was.

"Mother's dressing-room," she said quietly. She turned to Erik. "Will I see you again?"

"If you like," replied Erik. "I would certainly like to see you again. So I'll tell you a secret." Aminta grinned broadly; she _loved_ secrets and conspiracies. "The mechanism to open the mirror is hidden in the frame on the left side at eye level. Just apply pressure to it and the mirror will open. After that, the way down is pretty straightforward. Just follow the road." Aminta smiled.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything." In response, Erik triggered the mechanism on their side of the glass and opened the mirror.

"Aminta?"

"Yes?"

"Would you please give this to Christine-" and he gave her a blood-red rose with a black ribbon tied around the stem "-and would you please tell her…that I'm sorry?"

Aminta was startled by this, but she nodded and, taking the rose, stepped through, her eyes never leaving his until the mirror had closed. Even then, she gazed at her own reflection for a time. She hadn't gotten to see how she looked wearing her mother's gown, and she realized that she did look a lot like her mother, only their faces were shaped differently and Aminta had sapphirine eyes like Erik's whereas Christine had fathomless brown eyes. She smiled and turned to the door just as it opened and Christine entered, walking backwards to say good-night and thank you to her admirers. She shut the door with a sigh.

"She was supposed to have been back by now," she said to herself, her eyes on the floor. Sighing again, she looked up to go to her vanity-

which meant she saw Aminta for the first time.

She gasped in surprise, and then rushed to her, catching her in her arms and holding her tightly. Aminta laughed and hugged her back.

"Oh Amy, we were so worried, so afraid that something would happen to you," she said, almost babbling.

"I'm fine, Mother," said Aminta gently, hugging her again. "Don't worry, I'm fine." She stepped back for a moment. "Erik wanted me to give you this." And she offered her the rose. Christine took it slowly. "He also asked me to tell you that he's sorry." This caught Christine off-guard, and she looked briefly at the mirror before returning her gaze to her daughter.

"He…he told you his name, then?" she asked.

"I asked," replied Aminta, wondering what significance this had. "He still loves you, Mother."

"I know," whispered Christine. "I-I still love him too, in a way." Aminta was slightly surprised by this, but not much. Christine placed the rose lovingly on her vanity and stepped behind a screen to change. Aminta looked back at the mirror for a moment before going over to the vanity and just standing there. There came an urgent knock at the door.

"That'll be Father, doubtless," said Aminta quietly.

"Come in," called Christine, ignoring her daughter. Just as Aminta had predicted, Raoul entered.

"Aminta!" he cried when he saw her, rushing over to her to catch her up in his arms. She wriggled away from him.

"I'm still angry with you," she informed him.

"Amy, I'm _sorry_," said Raoul, pained. "I never meant to hurt you-"

"So you thought that simply striking me wouldn't hurt me?" Aminta demanded.

"No, that's not what I mean, I mean that I didn't mean to cut you like that."

"But you still meant to hurt me."

"No…well…stop that!"

Aminta laughed hollowly. "Well, I suppose I've had enough time to brood and I can forgive you now."

"_Thank_ you."

Aminta smiled and turned to her mother, who had emerged from behind the screen. "Mother, you looked so beautiful tonight. Of course, I suppose you always look beautiful."

"Thank you dear-" Christine began, then stopped, staring at her. "Wait…what did you say?"

"You looked beautiful tonight," repeated Aminta with a conspiratorial smile.

"Looked…"repeated her mother vaguely. "Aminta…can you _see?"_

"Perfectly," replied Aminta. With a joyous cry, Christine rushed to her again and crushed her in another tight hug. For once Aminta allowed herself to be crushed. Raoul joined in the hug, and she didn't push him away.

"But when?" asked Raoul, stepping back. "How?"

"Shortly after you left, I fell on the stairs and struck my head," said Aminta. "Slowly my vision returned while Erik cared for me."

"Ah yes," said Raoul in a darker tone. "And did you see him?"

"Yes. So what?" replied Aminta indifferently, shrugging her shoulders.

"So what?" repeated her father incredulously. "So what, so he's a monster, that's so what!"

"Well, Erik was a perfect gentleman to me," Aminta informed him coolly.

"Oh, so now it's _Erik,_" spat Raoul scathingly.

"He has a name, Father," said Aminta. "It's perfectly normal."

"And are you to see him again?" demanded Raoul. Aminta's cold glare was all the answer he needed. "Oh no you _don't!_ I forbid it, do you hear me? I forbid it!"

"Try and stop me," said Aminta in a low voice.

"Raoul!" said Christine reprovingly. "You're becoming apoplectic. Is this any way to act when our daughter's sight has finally returned after ten years?" Turning to Aminta, she smiled and said, "We must celebrate! Come, we go to dinner." And they left. Raoul followed grudgingly, and he did not fail to notice Aminta glance back at the mirror, confirming his suspicions. He knew that she loved Erik more than she loved him.

* * *

Erik had left shortly after Christine entered the room and embraced Aminta, but he knew that Aminta would be glancing at the mirror from time to time. He couldn't stop thinking about her; she fascinated him. She was so young, yet she, unlike so many others before her, had managed to see beyond the deformity and find the man behind it. And he couldn't help but think of how little she resembled Raoul. It was almost as if…but no, that wasn't possible. Well, it actually _was_ possible, but not likely. But it all added up, it made sense…he shook his head to clear it of these thoughts before they welled up and swallowed him. On returning to his lair, he noticed that Aminta had left her drawing on the steps. Curious, he picked it up and turned it over, as it had fallen face-down. She had drawn an elaborate scene, a masquerade like the one held annually at the Opera Populaire. There were people dancing all around the _grand escalier_, and on the landing was one couple in particular that stood out. On closer inspection, he realized with amusement that the two there were Aminta and himself! Aminta wore a mask just like the ornament she had shown him. He wore one like the one he had worn in _Don Juan Triumphant_. She portrayed him very flatteringly; he looked so handsome and happy in her picture. She dreamt of this? Dancing with him at the Masquerade? A smile spread slowly across his lips as an idea came to him. The Masquerade was in three days. Aminta's birthday was in three days. He had three days to make his preparations. 


	9. Erik's Gift

A/N: Yes, I do believe that more sugary products (coupled with stupidly staring at screenshots of Erik from the movie) will probably help. Next chappie up!

Disclaimer: I do not "On My Own", that is from _Les Mis._

Erik's Gift

News of Aminta's returned sight spread like wildfire among the young chorus-girls-in-training. Madam Giry was thrilled, as Aminta had been one of her best dancers before the accident. A blind ballerina isn't much good, is she? But now that she knew that Aminta could see again, she insisted that she return to dancing lessons as soon as possible, an idea to which Aminta readily agreed. She had always loved dancing, and was devastated when she realized that her blindness made it virtually impossible. Plus, now she could spend more time with Erik, but this she kept to herself, of course.

She remembered everything she had learned when she was younger, and she was even more flexible than ever. She had made sure of that over the years, just in case her sight ever returned. Just as she and her parents were leaving Christine's dressing-room, admirers had swarmed Christine, and Madam Giry took that opportunity to pull Aminta aside and talk to her about starting up ballet again. As they now had a little time, she asked Aminta to show her what she still remembered, just so she would know where to place her class-wise. Aminta quickly proved ready to join with the other girls her age, even though they'd been studying longer. She was, and had always been, a fast learner. Madam Giry was thrilled, and told Aminta she looked forward to seeing her in class the next day. She smiled to herself as she watched Aminta leave with her parents. She was startled out of her private thoughts when she heard the Opera Ghost's voice say softly, "Madame Giry, I require your services…"

* * *

Aminta was happier than she could remember being in a long time, save for when she was with Erik. She recognized nearly everything she saw, and could see even the tiniest changes. For instance, she noticed that the chandelier had been replaced. She wondered why. It hadn't fallen again; probably the notoriously fickle management had simply grown tired of the old one. The managers, also, she recognized and remembered, but did not speak to. She had never much cared for them, really. Descending the _grand escalier_, she saw another familiar and unwelcome face. 

"Signora _Sapo_ (A/N-Spanish 'toad')," she muttered darkly.

"Aminta," said Christine reprovingly, but she couldn't keep from smiling. Raoul snickered in a most undignified manner. Carlotta (for of course it was she) shot them an icy look before passing by with her nose in the air.

Dinner was lively and enjoyable, though Aminta didn't eat much. Her parents didn't worry about this; Aminta had never been a "big eater". She was perfectly fine with them believing that this was the reason for her lack of appetite. She found that she didn't want them to know she had had dinner with Erik before. Her father was already getting his trousers in a twist over this whole thing, she didn't need to rub salt into the wound.

She stayed up late that night in the library with her parents. They spent hours just talking, reading aloud from some of the books Aminta had left lying around. She read from some of her Braille books, as she had stories that they did not. It was very late when they finally decided to retire to their rooms. Both Christine and Raoul hugged Aminta tightly, telling her again how thrilled they were that she could see again before going to bed. That night, Aminta dreamed of Erik. Not the Angel of Music, not the Phantom of the Opera, but Erik. At first she saw them together, sitting in Box 5 watching a performance. Aminta left briefly at intermission to see if she could find her father, but she did not. When she returned, Erik was not there. Suddenly she found herself up in the catwalks where Joseph Buquet had met his demise so many years ago. Raoul and Erik were on catwalks facing each other, both glaring intently at the other.

'Who's hunting whom?'_ wondered Aminta. _'And more importantly, why?' _Confused and curious, she watched as her father suddenly darted off to the left while Erik simply climbed one of the ropes up into the walks above. Aminta found herself there before he arrived, but both were there before Raoul. He was obviously unprepared for Erik being there before him, and finally began to panic._

'Which,'_ thought Aminta derisively, _'any fool should have done_ before _this happened!'_ She watched, a little scared, but thoroughly fascinated with the spectacle before her. Erik slowly, tauntingly advanced on Raoul, while Raoul tried to look brave while searching desperately for a way out. Just as he made to jump off the catwalk, the Punjab lasso whipped through the air, quite literally stopping him dead. Aminta stared on in horror. She didn't get along with her father as well as she'd like to, but still!_

_"Oh my God," she whispered, speaking for the first time. Erik turned in surprise at the sound of her voice; he somehow had not known she was there._

_"Aminta…" he said, reaching out to her. "Aminta…"_

_"Don't come near me!" she cried._

"Don't come near me!"

"Aminta, are you alright?"

Aminta opened her eyes slowly and sat up. "Oh, it was a dream! It was only a dream. That's OK then." She looked over and saw Raoul standing near her, looking at her in concern. She smiled up at him reassuringly. "It's OK, Father. I was only dreaming." Raoul didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded, knowing he would get nothing more from her.

"Well, it's time to get up," he said. "You don't want to be late for your first dancing lesson, do you?"

"Oh! I forgot!" she cried in surprise, jumping out of bed and hurrying past him. She went down to the kitchen and ate a hurried breakfast before going back upstairs to get dressed. She found her mother ready and waiting for her when she got downstairs again, so they went off together.

Aminta didn't even recognize her old friends in her class, but she remembered them all, and they were all excited to see her again, and that she could see them again! Madame Giry allowed the girls a few minutes to chatter and reacquaint themselves before calling their attention with a bang of her cane on the floor. There was a lot that Aminta had to learn, but she learned it quickly. After spending her life paying excruciating attention to detail, how could she not? She had soon caught up with her classmates, and she did not fail to notice Madame Giry's approving smile. They were granted a ten-minute break after around an hour and half of practice, and most of the girls went off to their dormitories to rest and talk. Only Aminta stayed behind, electing to be alone for a while. When she was quite sure that she was alone, she began to sing softly to herself:

"_On my own  
Pretending he's beside me  
All alone, I walk with him till morning  
Without him  
I feel his arms around me  
And when I lose my way I close my eyes  
And he has found me_

_In the rain the pavement shines like silver  
All the lights are misty in the river  
In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight  
And all I see is him and me for ever and forever_

_And I know it's only in my mind  
That I'm talking to myself and not to him  
And although I know that he is blind  
Still I say, there's a way for us_

_I love him  
But when the night is over  
He is gone, the river's just a river  
Without him the world around me changes  
The trees are bare and everywhere  
The streets are full of strangers_

_I love him  
But every day I'm learning  
All my life I've only been pretending  
Without me his world will go on turning  
A world that's full of happiness  
That I have never known!_

_I love him  
I love him  
I love him  
But only on my own."_

Her voice trailed off, and she listened as the last notes died away in the empty room. Or rather, the _seemingly_ empty room.

_"Aminta."_

Aminta gave a start when she heard her name, and then smiled when she realized who it was.

"Erik," she said to the air. Then she flushed. "Were you listening to that?"

"Yes."

"I'm terrible, I know."

"You are _not_ terrible."

Aminta shrugged slightly. "I always used to wonder something when I was younger. With Mother, she had the talent but not the drive or the desire. I have the drive and the desire, but not the talent. What I wondered is, can you make something from nothing? Could you teach me to sing like Mother?"

As there always seemed to be whenever they spoke, there was a silence.

"You _do_ have the talent," Erik said at length. "You just haven't fully awakened it yet. With that, I can teach you. I _will_ teach you, for I assume you were asking me to?"

"Yes." Aminta smiled. Her smile faded, however, when she heard the voices of her friends coming back. "There's no time now, but I'll be here later waiting for Mother's rehearsal to end. Shall I meet you in her dressing-room?"

"That would be acceptable." She couldn't see him, but Aminta could've sworn Erik was smiling. "Until then."

"Until then," she agreed. More than once during the rest of the class did Madame Giry have to tell her to concentrate.

_'I _am_ concentrating,'_ thought Aminta. _'Just not on ballet.'_ Still, she knew better than to cross Madame Giry, so she did her best to push thoughts of her lesson with Erik into the back of her mind and bring ballet back to the front. But even so, her attention wandered. Finally, practice ended. As Aminta was leaving, Madame Giry caught her arm.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Why, no," replied Aminta in surprise. "Oh, because I wasn't concentrating? I'm terribly sorry about that, I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

"I suppose that's understandable," said Madame Giry with a forgiving smile. "Go on then." And she did. She retuned to her mother's dressing-room, changed out of her ballet clothes and back into her regular clothes, and waited by the mirror for Erik. She didn't know how long she waited, but it seemed like a long time, and she was on the verge of opening the mirror and going down to him when she heard his voice again.

"I'm sorry for the delay," he said. "I was working."

"I see," said Aminta. Thus began the first of her lessons. As with ballet, she learned quickly. But singing was different from dancing, and she still had a lot to learn. But she was finally comfortable with her own voice, and for the first time felt like she had potential. People had always joked about her becoming prima donna after her mother, maybe now that dream had a chance. With Erik, the possibilities were endless. She could do anything if he said she could.

All too soon, it seemed, the door-handle jiggled and Christine entered. She was startled when she saw Aminta, but smiled at her.

"Did you have fun at your lesson?" she asked, entering all the way into the room and closing the door.

"Yes," replied Aminta. "I missed a lot, but I picked up pretty quick. Mme Giry said I should have caught up with the rest of the class in a few days."

"Good for you!" said Christine approvingly, slipping behind the screen to get changed. Aminta looked back at the mirror, which had "dissolved" again and become transparent so she could clearly see Erik standing behind it. She smiled and gave a helpless little shrug. He nodded, bowed briefly, and vanished into darkness once more. As always, Aminta felt a slight, cold detachment and sadness as she watched him fade away into the shadows. Christine came out from behind the screen, chattering on and on about new productions and upcoming rehearsal dates, and how she couldn't wait for the day that Aminta danced onstage. Aminta didn't hear a word she said. She was staring at the mirror, absorbed in her own thoughts. She made slight noises of assent now and then to make her mother think she was listening, but really she wasn't. Soon Raoul came to greet them and they decided on a place to go for dinner (Aminta couldn't shake the feeling that they were going out so many nights just for her, when she'd really rather have dinner at home). They returned later than the previous night, as they had gone for a walk in the park. Aminta was very tired when they finally returned home, and went straight to bed.

So it continued likewise the next day. The third day, however, the twenty-fifth, the theatre was closed to prepare for the annual Masquerade. Aminta didn't know if she wanted to go, considering she had never been much of a "social butterfly". More like the caterpillar who hides in its cocoon, really. Her parents left her to decide as they went out to purchase costumes for themselves. Hours later they returned, and brought with them a shiny black box with a red ribbon around it and a rose tied into the ribbon.

"Oh, you didn't have to-" she began when she saw it, and then she saw the look in her father's eyes. He looked ready to kill, not like he had brought home a surprise for his daughter.

"This was outside on the doorstep," explained Christine. "The tag is addressed to you." curious Aminta took the box, untied the ribbon and set the rose aside carefully, and opened the box. What lay within took her breath away, and Christine gasped when she saw. Inside the box lay an exact likeness of the ornament mask Aminta had, except life-sized and made of gold satin, a perfect fit to her. It lay nestled on top of the most beautiful gown Aminta had ever seen, also an exact fit to her. The gown was long and full-skirted, sleeveless and off-the-shoulder, made of a deep crimson satin with a floral print, and an overskirt of gold satin. The neckline was somewhat low and square. It matched the mask perfectly. For a long time Aminta just stared at the treasures that lay within the box, hardly daring to believe that they truly were hers. Finally, she spoke:

"I shall accompany you to the Masquerade."


	10. Trigger Finger

A/N: More Phantom cookies for all!

Trigger Finger

Aminta was unusually nervous as she approached the theatre with her parents. She hadn't attended a social event like this in a long time. She had never liked to anyway. But now, in her dazzling gown and gold mask, she felt more beautiful than she had ever felt in her life, more sure of herself. What did she have to be nervous about? Besides, maybe Erik would make an appearance. She hoped so, just not one like the last time he had, disguised as the Red Death. She smiled to herself thinking about that. Erik had long since told her everything that had transpired all those years ago, saying that she had a right to know. One of the things she loved most about him was how he treated her like an adult, not like a child who must be protected from the world. Oh, it wasn't to say that her parents didn't love her, but they were far too protective of her. Erik knew that you couldn't try to protect someone from reality forever; just look what had happened to Christine! A childlike mind in a woman's body ever since her father died, and all because he had kept her from growing up until that day. Aminta shuddered inwardly to think that her parents wanted her to be like that. It was that exact reason that the love between Erik and Christine had failed. Christine was used to things being "safe", and having someone around to protect her from those that weren't so she never had to know about them. Erik would have protected her, certainly, but she never gave him that chance. Besides, he wasn't what she would consider "safe". But Aminta didn't want to think about that now.

The night air was warm with a touch of humidity, which, considering it was June, wasn't surprising. Undoubtedly the main hall of the theatre would be warm from the heat of so many bodies. Aminta preferred the cold to the heat, but could deal with it. The hall was magnificently decorated for the occasion (but what the occasion was Aminta never actually knew). Banners hung everywhere, flowers filled the corners and tabletops, garlands were wrapped around the banisters of the _grand escalier_, and everything seemed to shine with an inner light. Music filled the air as surely as the scent from the flowers and the perfume the ladies wore. The heavy smell was almost dizzying, but Aminta liked it. Almost as soon as they entered, a boy around Aminta's age came over and asked her to dance, sweeping her into the throng when she accepted his hand. As they whirled to the music, she saw her parents dancing together. She smiled; it was a beautiful sight, really. One that had broken Erik's heart so long ago. What would he say now, she wondered. She would have to ask him if she saw him.

The dance was one where you changed partners constantly, so Aminta never danced with any one person long enough to find out who they were. Finally the dance ended and Aminta, very dizzy by now, stepped to the side for a moment to catch her breath. A new song, a slower one, started up and for a while Aminta just watched the dancers. She had never seen a spectacle like this before, though her parents had described the Masquerade in full detail (minus the part where Erik descended the _grand escalier_ dressed as Red Death) and she had been able to imagine what it would look like. Still, seeing is better than imagining most of the time. So rapt was she in taking in the sight, she jumped slightly when she felt someone's cool fingers on her bare shoulder. She turned around and saw a dashing man dressed in deep crimson with a cloak and mask of gold.

"Erik?" she asked softly. He smiled and bowed to her.

"Lovely lady, may I have this dance?" he asked, offering his hand.

_'Yup, it must be Erik,'_ she thought. Smiling, she curtsied and took his hand. "Good sir, you may have every dance." Erik laughed softly as he spun her out onto the dance floor. Aminta lost herself immediately in the perfect rhythm in which they moved together, in his beautiful sapphirine eyes that looked so much like her own. A few times some of the younger boys tried to cut in, but each time Erik would say, "This lady is dancing with me," and sweep her away. Aminta did not mind at all. However, someone else did.

"Who is that there?" Raoul asked Christine. "That man dancing with Amy? I hope he's not who I think he is."

"I don't know," said Christine in an unconvincing tone. "He doesn't look familiar." This was actually an honest response, considering that Erik did not look like he normally would be imagined as in his costume. But Raoul and Christine both knew perfectly well who he was, and Raoul did _not_ like the look of rapture in his daughter's eyes as she danced with him. Frowning, he went over to them.

"Uh-oh," said Aminta, glancing over Erik's shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Erik asked. He glanced back and saw Raoul coming. "Oh." His grip on Aminta's hand tightened slightly (or was that her?) as Raoul approached.

"I should go with him," she said softly. "Just for a little while, until he cools down a little."

"You're probably right," said Erik, though he didn't want her to leave. "I'll find you later." He pressed the back of her hand to his lips briefly and vanished into the crowd just as Raoul came up to Aminta. She smiled at him.

"May I have this dance?" she asked, trying to distract him. He bowed slightly and took her hand, placing his other on her waist, but she could see him still looking around for Erik. "Oh Father, don't be such a stiff," she said with a light little laugh.

"You were dancing with _him_?" hissed Raoul.

"Yes, and now I'm dancing with you," said Aminta indifferently. "What does it matter? I hardly think it's for _you_ to decide with whom _I_ dance." Seeing the look in her father's eyes, she sighed. "Can't you put aside your differences for just one night?"

"Why?" demanded Raoul petulantly.

"Because it's my birthday?" asked Aminta softly. Raoul was visibly taken aback. Looking into his daughter's eyes, his expression softened.

"All right," he said. "I'll try."

"Well, it's better than nothing," said Aminta. Raoul laughed and spun her around. As he did, Aminta noticed something that would instantly make Raoul forget what he had only just promised her: Christine was dancing with Erik. She tried to make sure that he always had his back to them as they danced, but it became harder to do this without her leading. If she tried too hard, Raoul would know there was something behind him that she didn't want him to see. He may have been inattentive, but he wasn't entirely stupid. She drew his attention to her, engaging him in deep conversation as they danced, until the music ended again. By this time, she was tired and a little hot. As soon as she was able, she slipped away from her father and went up to the landing of the _grand escalier_, scanning the crowd for Erik. It took a while to find him; he didn't stand out as much anymore, which was most likely his intent. When she did, she kept her eyes on him until she could catch his eye. She made a gesture that she was leaving for a little while and he nodded. That done, she went up the stairs and made her way up to the roof.

The view from the roof of the Paris opera house was phenomenal. Thirteen stories above the street, she could see everything. The humidity had siphoned off somewhat, and a cool breeze now blew, a welcome sensation on her hot skin. She sighed and opened her arms to it, removing her mask so the air could get to the flesh of her face. This action made her wonder briefly how Erik could stand to wear his mask all the time, but such thoughts as this she promptly shut from her mind. Instead, she went to the edge of the roof and looked down. It was quite an impressive distance from the street, and she was almost dizzied by it. Gazing down on the night-owls far below, she gave a small shiver.

"Cold?"

Aminta smiled. "Vertigo," she replied. Erik laughed as she turned to face him. "How did you know I was up here?"

"What was there to know?" he replied. "I saw where you went and I followed." Now it was Aminta's turn to laugh.

"I'm sorry I had to go before," she said.

"You don't have to explain," said Erik dismissively. "It wasn't your fault."

"I had a devil of a time keeping Father from seeing you and Mother dancing."

"Just as it is your right to choose your dancing partner, so is it Christine's."

"You know perfectly well what I mean!"

Erik laughed in a manner almost playful. Aminta couldn't help laughing with him.

"Erik, I can't thank you enough for the gown and mask," she said. "They're absolutely gorgeous. Did you make them?"

"The mask, yes," replied Erik. "Not the gown. And I'm so glad you like them so much."

"Like you thought it would be otherwise! I assume this means you found that drawing? I knew I left it somewhere."

"Yes, I found it. You portray me very kindly."

"Well, why not?"

Erik gazed thoughtfully at her for a time. "What is it?" she asked.

"Just out of curiosity, how did you know it was me that first night?" he asked. Aminta was a little surprised by this, but smiled.

"Two things," she said. "One, I could think of no one else who would be in the Ghost's Box, let alone the theatre itself, that late at night and that early before the performance. Two, I could tell by the colour of your voice."

"What do you mean?"

"When I was blind, I could sort of "see" sounds. My father's voice was green, Mother's was bright red, almost pink. Yours was pure white. I could think of only one person who could have a voice so pure that it would appear white through the darkness of my vision."

"Mine."

"Yours." There was another silence. Aminta looked like she was going to say something, but she stopped with a frown and closed her eyes for a moment. "My father's coming, looking for me."

"How do you know that?" asked Erik in surprise.

"If I close my eyes, I can still almost see the colours of sounds," Aminta explained. "Can't you hear it?" Erik listened for a moment, then nodded. They could both hear the faint footsteps on the stairs outside the door. "I don't want to talk to him, and I don't think he should see me talking to you." Erik nodded again.

"Come, hide with me," he said.

"Where, oh where?" Aminta half-sang with a grin. Erik laughed and swept her behind the same statue that had concealed him when he witnessed Christine's betrayal. The door opened and Raoul came out, looking around.

"Aminta?" he called. "Aminta, are you here?"

"Yes and no," murmured Aminta. Erik smiled and pressed her hand gently, signaling for her to follow him as Raoul was moving into such a position as to be able to see them if he looked to his left. He turned his head just as they stepped around the other side of the statue, but he caught sight of Erik's gold cloak.

"All right, I _know_ someone's there," he said. "Come out where I can see you!"

"Damn," muttered Aminta.

"You stay here, I'll go out," whispered Erik. "You're right in that he shouldn't know we were talking. I'll distract him, you try to slip back downstairs."

"I'll see you there, then," said Aminta. Erik smiled.

"I know you're there!" shouted Raoul, irritated.

"No need to shout," said Erik smoothly, stepping out from the shadows, his cloak swirling elegantly. Aminta slipped around the other side of the statue, glancing back and forth between the door and the two men.

"Where's Aminta?" demanded Raoul.

"Well how should I know?" asked Erik. "Am I Aminta's keeper?"

"Don't toy with me," growled Raoul. "I'm sure she was with you. She _must_ have been with you; no one else has seen her. Whenever someone disappears around here, you're the one to blame." Erik just laughed. "Oh, you think that's funny, do you? I know what you're doing!"

"Really?" asked Erik mildly. "And what, pray tell, would that be?"

"You're trying to take her," said Raoul. "You tried to take Christine, but you couldn't. You will _not_ have Aminta! I tell you now, stay away from my daughter!"

"It is not for you to decide!" said Erik a little shortly. "Who are you to tell her who she may and may not see? Now I'm telling _you_, Chagny, I could take her from you forever and she would help me to do it! You know this. But I would _never_ try to move her against her will. And that is the difference between you and I."

"How dare you!" roared Raoul. "The difference between us is that you are a monster! A heartless, unfeeling monster!"

"Is that so?" demanded Erik, losing all patience. "Then it was a 'heartless, unfeeling monster' what made her smile tonight with the gift of a golden mask and matching gown! It was a 'heartless, unfeeling monster' with whom she danced of her own volition! It was a 'heartless, unfeeling monster' who made her feel beautiful! And it is a 'heartless, unfeeling monster' who makes her smile and laugh continually because it pleases him to see her happiness! Even you cannot deny this."

"She will come to fear and hate you!" declared Raoul.

"She will _love_ me!" returned Erik with a somewhat sinister laugh. "She already does."

Aminta, who had been listening to all this, swore she _saw_ the idea occur to him seconds before Raoul drew and fired his pistol.

Time froze for an instant as Erik waited for the pain to explode in his chest before the bullet penetrated his heart and killed him. When it didn't come, he realized for the first time that he was holding Aminta, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Something warm, sticky, and wet was soaking into his shirtsleeve and he looked to see what it was. _Blood_. And not his blood either. Aminta's. Blood was pouring from her shoulder where the bullet had struck. He stared in shock, and he knew that Raoul was horrified at what he had done.

"Oh God," whispered Raoul. "Oh God."

"He's not helping," said Erik scathingly. "Get a doctor! Now, before she bleeds to death!" Raoul was obviously disinclined to leave his daughter but he had no choice. He ran back downstairs, leaving Aminta alone with Erik, who, still holding her, slowly knelt down and sat back on his heels, cradling Aminta in his arms. She opened her eyes slowly and looked around blearily.

"Erik?" she asked in a hoarse, shaking whisper.

"I'm right here," he answered softly. "I won't leave you. Oh Aminta, why did you do it?"

"I had to," she whispered. "I didn't even realize what I was doing until I had done it. I couldn't let him…I couldn't…I…"

"Shh, save your strength," he told her. "Help is coming."

"But they'll see you," she said thickly.

"I don't care! Besides, they won't know. It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Well _you_ matter to _me_."

Silence once again. It took a moment for what had just been said to register with them both. Aminta stared up at him, then smiled.

"You matter to me, too," she said, taking his hand and then hissing in pain.

"Don't move," Erik instructed her. The door flew open suddenly as Raoul came back with a doctor, who had come to the Masquerade dressed, ironically, as a skeleton.

"Dear God, what happened?" the doctor cried when he saw Aminta.

"Accident," she mumbled. "Misfire…"

"Don't try to talk, honey," the doctor said, kneeling down next to her to examine the wound. "Sir, give me your jacket," he said to Raoul, who complied immediately. He tore off one of the sleeves and tied it tightly around Aminta's shoulder, causing her to cry out in pain. "I know it hurts, but we have to stop the bleeding," he explained. "We have to get her to the hospital. She needs stitches, and we have to get the bullet out." Erik, somewhat reluctantly, allowed the doctor to take Aminta from his arms.

"Erik…" whispered Aminta before she could stop herself. He squeezed her hand lovingly.

"I'll be here," he whispered back. "Hold on, Aminta. Hold on for me." She nodded and slowly released his hand. Blackness consumed her vision as consciousness slipped away. The last thing she saw was Erik rising and watching as she was taken away. She couldn't speak, but she hoped he could tell what she meant to say:

_'I won't die, I promise.'_


	11. Repercussions

A/N: OK now, this is the next to last chapter I have completed, so I might just wait until tomorrow to update the next one. We shall see, I'll have to think about it. 

Repercussions

_"You did WHAT?"_ Christine shrieked.

"Christine, it was an accident! You think I _meant_ to do it?"

"I think that you didn't think at all! What the hell passed through your mind that made you do that?"

Raoul gave a start. Christine had never used the word 'hell' as a curse before. He could never remember her cursing at all. Well, he couldn't say he blamed her, considering what he had done.

"I admit, I wasn't thinking. But I swear to you, I never meant to hurt our daughter!"

"You'll forgive me, dear, if I find that difficult to believe."

"You think I _wanted_ to shoot her!"

"I don't know _what_ you want anymore! And right now, I don't care! All that I care about now is getting to our daughter's side, where we're needed." With that, she swept past him and headed for the stable where their carriage was. Raoul just stared after her for a moment before running to catch up with her. He knew to expect the same reaction from Aminta; hell, he'd be lucky if she even _looked_ at him! Christine continued to tell him how she couldn't believe what he had done out of his insane jealousy and pride. Raoul could hardly hear her anyway. He was too stricken by his own actions to think about anything else at present. That, and Erik's last words before he had fired. He knew Erik could easily take Aminta from him without deception or pretense of any kind. Maybe that was why he had fired, or was it something else? He just didn't know anymore, and he didn't want to think about it. All that mattered to him now was his daughter.

* * *

The first thing Aminta knew when she awoke was that she was unquestionably not dead, as evidenced by the screaming pain in her shoulder. She let out an unlovely shriek of pain when she opened her eyes, but at least it let her know she was alive. As if on cue, a nurse came into the room. 

"Poor girl," she said sympathetically. "This'll help." And she inserted a needle into Aminta's arm, injecting her with some sort of narcotic. The pain in her shoulder dulled quickly, and she realized she had been clenching her fists tight enough to draw blood from her palms. She relaxed slowly. "Don't worry, sweetie, you'll be out of here by tomorrow. You just need to keep your arm in that sling for a few weeks." Aminta nodded slightly.

"Where's my mother?" she asked softly.

"She's on her way," said the nurse reassuringly. "And your father too," she added, hoping that this would help her feel better. Aminta just gave a faint smile, sealing her thoughts inside. No reason to hurt this woman's feelings, she was just trying to help. The nurse smiled back at her and looked up at the door. "Ah, here they are!" She went and opened the door to admit Christine and Raoul, slipping out herself.

"Aminta!" cried Christine, throwing her arms around her child.

"Ah! Mother, my _shoulder_," gasped Aminta.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" said Christine, loosening her grip. Not looking away from Aminta, she pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat holding her daughter's hand. "Oh darling, what happened?" Aminta was startled by this, thinking that Raoul would have told her, but then she realized that Christine wanted to hear it from her. Aminta gave a little half-shrug.

"There was a confrontation on the roof between Erik and Father," she said. "I had been there getting a breath of air and talking with Erik. I was leaving while Erik distracted Father, but I stopped to listen. It's a good thing I did, too. Father, in his haste, drew and fired his pistol at Erik. I didn't even realize what I was doing until the bullet was in my shoulder. I suppose it's a good thing, then, that my shoulder is over Erik's heart, or else I don't want to think of what could have happened."

"Aminta…" said Raoul softly. Aminta didn't even look at him. She frowned for a moment, then shook her head slightly.

"What is it?" asked Christine.

"Nothing," replied Aminta. "I thought I heard something, but I was mistaken." It hurt Raoul to hear Aminta speak as though he wasn't even there, but what truly killed him inside was knowing how thoroughly he deserved it. Christine didn't speak on his behalf, and he couldn't expect her to. He simply sat in another chair and watched the two of them silently.

"How are you feeling?" asked Christine.

"Better, thanks mostly to the medication," replied Aminta. "My shoulder's throbbing, though. But I'm told that should stop soon. Other than that, I just can't wait to be home in my own bed." Christine managed a weak laugh and Aminta smiled. "Don't worry, Mother, I'll be fine." Continuing to ignore Raoul, and perhaps to punctuate it, she added boldly, "I have to talk to Erik, though. He was worried about me, and I want to let him know I'm all right."

"No!" shouted Raoul, unable to contain himself any longer. Aminta looked at him icily.

"No one's asking _you_," she said, saying 'you' as though referring to something she had just stepped in.

"Look, you don't want to talk to me and that's fine, I deserve it I know, but you'd rather go back to _him?"_

"Is it any of your business?"

"Yes! You're my daughter, I look out for your well-being-"

"Oh ho, so _that's_ why you slashed my face with a knife and shot me."

"You know I never meant to-"

"And _you_ know that I don't want to talk to you! I want Erik!"

"Aminta," said Christine, trying to calm her.

"Get out," Aminta hissed at Raoul.

"Aminta!" he said in shock.

"I said get out! Get out! GET OUT! I don't want you here! I don't want…I don't want…" Her voice trailed off as the drugs took hold and she passed out.

* * *

"No, no, no, and that is FINAL!" 

"Raoul! You're being unreasonable!"

"Oh, _I'm_ being unreasonable! I, the one who's trying to protect her from him?"

"_You_ shot her!"

"None of this would have happened if it wasn't for him! She is not to go back to the theatre, and Christine I'm putting my foot down!"

_'Not go back…what?'_ thought Aminta blearily, struggling to wake fully. Her parents were arguing heatedly outside the door, probably thinking she couldn't hear them out there. Well, they were wrong. _'How can he even _think_ of trying to keep me from the theatre? I'm a dancer! I have to go back.'_

"You can't truly believe that she'll ever listen to you. You can't keep her from that theatre, she loves it there."

"It's time she started loving _reality_. She can't live in her fantasies forever, and she has to learn that. We spoiled her, Christine, because of her blindness and now we have to undo that damage."

"Are you saying our daughter is _damaged_ now?"

"Of course not! But she can't just do whatever she pleases all her life. If she wants to dance so badly, we'll find a good dance academy for her to attend. Let her make some new friends."

"And what of the old ones? The ones she's trying to get to know once again, after so long?"

"I never said she had to stop being friends with those other girls, but don't you think it's a good idea for her to make new ones?"

"I think that it's up to her."

Aminta had long since heard enough. She knew her mother was weakening; that was how her father won all these battles-make it seem like something that would be good for all of them and keep pushing her until she was too tired to keep saying 'no' with conviction. Scowling darkly, hating them both, she pushed herself up in bed, ignoring the flash of pain in her shoulder. Once the initial dizziness faded, she looked around for a moment until she noticed a pile of her clothes-black shirt, black leggings, and black boots-lying on the chair where Christine had sat before, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and clumsily changing into them single-handed when she spotted them. She knew she couldn't go out by way of the door, so she went to the window. Luck was on her side-she was on the ground level of the building. The drop was hardly five feet, and the window was wide. Silently, emotionlessly, she slipped out the window and made her way through the shadows back to the theatre.

* * *

Imagine, if you can, the fright Christine and Raoul received when they reentered Aminta's room to find her gone, her fancy Masquerade gown laid on the bed and her regular clothes missing. 

"Oh God, she _wouldn't…_" said Raoul mutedly. "I can't believe this! Even in her condition, she's going back to the theatre!"

"She must have heard us," said Christine.

"We have to find her," said Raoul. "She could do herself a worse injury if she's not careful."

"She will be," sighed Christine tiredly. "You know that she will. She'll be fine." Raoul turned to her incredulously.

" 'She'll be fine'! How can you _say_ that!" he cried. "Aren't you concerned at all for our daughter?"

Christine looked at him sadly. "Raoul, there's something I have to tell you…"

* * *

Aminta was mildly surprised to find that it was only nine-thirty or so when she reached the theatre again. The Masquerade was still going on, leading her to assume that no one knew what had transpired on the roof. The revelry was dying down, though, so no one noticed her slip in. She avoided the ballroom and went the long way 'round to the dressing-rooms. She found her mother's unlocked, but locked it from the inside when she had entered. That done, she went to the mirror and fumbled around the frame on the left side at eye level, where Erik told her the mechanism to open the mirror was. After Raoul had come down that first night, Erik fixed the mirror to make it impossible to open without direct pressure at exactly the right spot, which Aminta could not find. In frustration she slammed her fist against the frame…thus striking the hidden switch and opening the mirror. She stood looking down the dark corridor for a moment before snapping out of her trance and going through before the mirror closed. 

"Who says anger doesn't solve anything?" she muttered, running her left hand along the wall. "It's a good thing I'm left-handed, or I'd be in a bit of a pickle with this damned sling." She didn't know why she felt the need to speak aloud to herself; possibly she wasn't as comfortable in the shadows as she liked to believe? No, no, impossible, she _lived _for the darkness. Then she hit upon it: she was scared. Really and truly scared. Not of the darkness, not of not knowing where she was, but scared that everything she could once believe in was about to end. And she didn't know why.

She came soon to the top of the stairway, looking all around again as she descended. Erik had told her to just follow the road to get back to him, so that's what she did. She shivered; it was freezing and she was without a cloak or coat. June or not, she was still five cellars below the Opera House and it was _cold_. Well, she liked the cold too. Tossing her loose hair back almost defiantly, she continued on her way down the caliginous path. Eventually she reached the 'harbor', if that's what you'd call it, but there was no boat, since Erik was in his lair. Aminta paused for a moment before splashing right into the dark water. It came midway up her thighs, but she didn't care. She wasn't really thinking. All she cared about was reaching Erik.

The water pulled at her legs, and she began to tire, but she strove on. She kept telling herself, _'I'm closer now…I'm almost there…Just a little farther…Nearly there…'_ until the black portcullis finally loomed into view and loud, hammering organ music pounded in her ears. She went up to the portcullis and saw through it Erik, seated at his organ, playing furiously. He still wore his Masquerade costume-the one that had so perfectly matched hers-and she wondered how long he had been there, and if he thought what had happened was his fault.

_'No,'_ she thought. _'It's mine,'_ "Erik!" she shouted, but she couldn't even hear herself over his wicked music. She pounded on the portcullis with her fist, and shouted "Erik!" again, trying to get him to notice her. Her legs were beginning to go numb from the icy waters. She pounded on the portcullis again, hearing the chains rattling. "Erik! Erik, please let me in! Erik!" Finally his music decrescendoed enough for him to hear her. He raised his head first, as though wondering what he was hearing. She called to him one more time, and he finally turned to face her. His eyes widened in shock at seeing her there.

"Aminta!" he cried.

"Erik, please let me in," she said breathlessly.

"Oh! Yes, of course," said Erik, going to the lever that opened the gate and pulling it. Aminta ducked under the dripping gate as soon as there was enough room for her to slip under it. She sloshed over to the steps next to the boat and climbed up tiredly. Erik reached for her to help her and she hugged him tightly with her good arm. He seemed surprised by her actions, but he put his arms around her after a moment, holding her delicately as though she were made of some fragile material and he would shatter her if he held her too close. Aminta leaned into him a little, enjoying the feeling of his strong arms around her. She could smell his cologne; it was the same as her father's. Her mother's favourite. She wondered now if her mother liked it so much _because_ it was the same as what Erik wore. Ah well, it didn't matter.

"Sorry to intrude," she mumbled, but she wasn't sure if Erik heard her.

"Aminta, I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" she asked, looking up into his eyes. "It wasn't your fault. I don't even think it was Father's. It was an accident."

"Why did you shield me?" he asked. "You could have been killed."

"No one's ever made me feel like I can believe in myself before," she said. "No one's ever made me feel like I can _be_ someone. No one's ever made me feel so beautiful. But you do. I suppose I was being a little selfish, really. I didn't want to lose what you let me believe. I didn't want to lose you." Erik just looked at her for a moment, then he smiled and held her a little tighter.

"You weren't being selfish," he said. "And even if you were, I thank you for it. You saved my life."

"You saved mine first," said Aminta. "Without you, I don't know what I would have done that night." They just stood a while in silence, still holding each other. Aminta liked this, this closeness. She hadn't been this close to him without having been hurt, and she liked it even if he was hurting her shoulder a little. She didn't care. Suddenly Erik gave a small sigh and stepped back from her, turning away. Aminta was surprised and a little hurt by his actions, and wondered if she had done something wrong. Just as she was about to ask, she heard him singing "Music of the Night" softly to himself. At least, she thought she did. He was singing so softly she couldn't tell if he really was singing. His voice trailed off at the end of the first verse and he just stood for a moment. Before she quite knew what she was doing, Aminta stepped forward tentatively.

_"Slowly, gently, Night unfurls its splendor,"_ she sang experimentally. _"Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender..."_ Erik turned to her slowly.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"I…I don't know," said Aminta. "I remember hearing Mother sing it a few times when I was very little, so young I shouldn't even remember. But I've always remembered. She stopped singing to me when I was about three, but I still remember. I asked her about it, but she pretended not to know what I was talking about. I don't know why."

"I do," said Erik somewhat tightly. Aminta wondered what was wrong as he went and sat on the steps, gesturing for her to join him. Puzzled, she did, sitting a step or two lower than him and leaning against his leg. "There is something you should know, something that Christine should have told you by now. Aminta-"


	12. Revelation

A/N: OK, I tell you now that this is the last chapter I have ready for you, so now you'll have to take them as I write them.

Revelation

"-is not _our_ daughter," said Christine heavily.

_"WHAT?"_ yelled Raoul in horror and disbelief. "What are you _saying_!"

"I'm saying," she said softly, "that she is not your child. She is unquestionably mine, that much is certain, but you are not her father."

* * *

"What do you mean? Then _who?"_

"Did Christine ever tell you about problems she and Raoul might have had in the early stages of their marriage?" asked Erik gently.

"Well, yes, but Mother told me it was nothing, that all young couples had difficulties at first," Aminta answered dumbly. "And Father said that their troubles were few and far between; there was nothing I should be worried about. They didn't talk about it much."

"Well, there was one thing you must know," said Erik. "After their worst argument, one in which Raoul wanted to leave Paris entirely and forget all that had happened like I told them to, and Christine wanted to stay here, Christine left the house in anger. She came back here, whether she was looking for me or not I do not know, but I spoke to her in the chapel where she went to try and calm herself. I truly did not mean to, but I apparently started talking aloud to myself and she heard. She told me what had happened and asked that I stay with her for a while, and not through a sheet of glass either. She wanted me with her, and though I was hesitant, I granted her request. It was such a simple thing, really, such a little thing. I still don't know how it all happened, but it did."

"What happened?" asked Aminta hoarsely.

Erik just looked at her sadly. "Reason gave way to passion."

* * *

_"WHAT!"_

"Stop yelling, will you? I know I made a mistake, I know! But there's no reversing it now."

"Is that why you didn't show me any romantic interest for nearly a month?"

"I needed a failsafe way of determining how great a mistake I had made. I had to wait until I was certain if I was pregnant."

"You told me you had the _flu__!"_

"I know! And I'm sorry! I am so truly sorry! I meant to tell you both when Aminta turned eighteen. I never could have predicted any of this would happen. I don't know, maybe I meant to hide it from both of you forever! All her life, when I've looked at her, I couldn't love her like a mother is supposed to love her child. When I saw her, I was only reminded of the mistake I had made. I felt only shame when I saw my daughter. I wanted so desperately to love her, and maybe that in itself is a kind of love, but I've lied to her all her life just as I've lied to you. Raoul, will you not even look at me?"

Raoul had turned away from her, trying to shut out what he heard, trying to shut out the truth. This was too much. Aminta, his dear daughter, his only child, was not even his? Then by right she should be with the man he desperately tried to keep her from at all costs. With a frustrated cry he kicked one of the chairs with such a force that the leg cracked. He whirled around to confront Christine…but stopped when he saw the tears she shed. His gaze softened, his fists unclenched, he relaxed slowly.

"Christine…" he whispered helplessly. "What am I supposed to say? I don't know. All I know is that I've always loved her. And I still do. And I love you. You do know that, don't you?" Christine nodded, unable to speak as she tried to stem the flow of tears. "Oh Christine, don't cry anymore." And he took her into his arms lovingly, though his mind swam with hurtful accusations and questions that he could comprehend the answers to. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was the truth. The truth was supposed to set you free, wasn't it? Then why did he feel all the more confined now that he knew it? This was one truth he could stand to live without, one illusion he did not want shattered. But there it was, lying in lackluster fragments on the floor, impossible to ever put back together again without the hairline cracks showing. Even if he could reassemble it, it would always be flawed now.

"Does…_he_ know?" he asked her as gently as he could.

"Yes," whispered Christine. "At least, he knew about the child. I told him that if I were certain it was his, I would teach it "Music of the Night". And I sang that song so often to Aminta when she was little, hoping it would stick in her memory. I know now that it did. She was humming it the other night in the library, just before all of this happened. She told me she had heard it in a dream, but some part of her must remember my singing it to her when she was small."

"So she knows it now," said Raoul. "If the Phantom finds out that she knows, he'll know she's his child. And if he discovers that she's his child-"

"No. Don't even think it. You've heard the way she talks about him, the way he is with her. He'd never try to move her against her will." Raoul cringed slightly at these words, the ones Erik himself had used in accusation against him. Christine sighed, oblivious to this. "I have to tell her."

"Christine…"

"No, Raoul. She deserves to know now, after all that's happened. I have to tell her."

* * *

"You can't tell her." 

"What?"

"You can't tell her that I've told you this. By now, I'm sure she'll want to tell you herself. It's better that way, really."

"Then why did you tell me at all?"

"I don't know. I knew that Christine would tell you this anyway. I felt you had a right to know. _I_ didn't even know, not for certain."

"Then why did you tell me this, if you don't even know?"

"Because I do now. You told me yourself."

"Please elaborate."

"When Christine told me she was pregnant, she promised that if the child was mine she would teach it "Music of the Night", which I sang to her so long ago. You knew the words when I stopped; you said that Christine had sung it to you when you were little. Besides, don't you see the resemblance between us?"

Aminta looked up, wanting to protest for some reason, and two pairs of identical blue eyes met. She closed her mouth and looked at him more closely. They both had high cheekbones, squared jaws, and similar noses, though hers was slightly smaller and more feminine. She also shared his long legs and long-fingered hands. All in all, they did look alike. She just stared at him for a moment, then made a soft, wondering sound as she dropped her gaze and leaned her head back against his knee. She felt his arm, which was resting on his leg, move as though to stroke her hair, but he didn't, and she felt oddly bereft.

"I don't know what to do," she said finally, gazing pointlessly out in front of her. "What am I supposed to say?"

"Nothing," replied Erik gently. "You don't have to say anything." He sighed. "I'm sorry to have sprung this on you like this, but I felt you had to know the truth. I suppose I tricked you, in a way. I wanted to see if you knew "Music of the Night", and when I knew that you did I knew for myself who you truly were. And I felt it was unfair that Christine and I should know this when you didn't. You of all people had the most right to know."

"I'm a mistake," said Aminta faintly, as though she hadn't heard him. "I'm nothing more than a rage-and-passion-induced mistake. Oh gods above, what is Father…I mean, what is _Raoul_…going to say?"

"If you are a mistake, then you are the most wonderful mistake I have ever made," said Erik fiercely. "And I have made a lot of mistakes in my time. Don't talk that way about yourself, Aminta." Aminta looked up at him quizzically. He slid down one step and put his arms around her. She sighed and leaned her head against his chest. "Aminta, I've watched you ever since Christine started bringing you to the Opera House. I held you in my arms when you were still an infant. I watched you from Box 5, wishing that you were _my_ daughter and sitting with me. I assumed that since Christine hadn't told me she knew for certain that you were my child, then you weren't. I wanted you to be. I knew who you were that night when I found you bleeding and frightened in my box. But I never knew that you were blind. When you told me you were, I admit that I thought for an instant about how I could use that to my advantage. But I didn't want to take advantage of you like that. I just wanted you to trust me, and I thought that you would because you couldn't see me as I am." Once again she looked at him quizzically. Then she reached up slowly and touched his cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment, and she used that opportunity to pull his mask off slowly. His eyes opened immediately and he stared at her in surprise.

"I have seen you," she said. "I wanted to see you. You were the first thing I saw clearly in ten years, and I wanted it to be so. Your face holds no horror for me. Father…oh, it's going to be confusing, thinking of what to call him now…always exaggerated about how you looked. Truth be told, I was almost disappointed! Always the ballet-rats told me that you had a death's head, you were a living corpse, that you, like Medusa, turned all who saw you to stone. I do not say these things to hurt you, I don't mean to. I say this because it's so completely absurd, the things they said, the things they say. I took my sight for granted, a gift to which I was entitled. And so I lost it, and learned that it is not a right but a luxury. In my blindness, I realized that all things are beautiful on some level. You only need to look for it closely enough to find it. In my naïveness I thought that knowing this would give me back my sight, but I was mistaken. Over the years, I grew to realize that I could still find beauty even in what I could not see. I swore that if ever I regained my vision I would never ever again judge things or people by their looks. I had done so before, and it disgusted me to think that I had even for a while as an innocent child. I promised whatever God there may be that I would never be so superficial again if only I could have one more chance. Maybe that's why I saw you first, to put my promise to the test. I do not know. But you must know that I would never turn from you. You are not repulsive, you are not a living corpse. You are Erik, and you are my father." Now it was Erik's turn to stare. Aminta smiled at him, and he returned the smile. She offered him his mask back. He took it, but set it aside instead of putting it back on. They sat in silence together, contemplating the mystery of each other. Finally Aminta had to stifle a yawn, and both realized how tired they were.

"How long is your arm going to be like that?" asked Erik.

"A few weeks," said Aminta sleepily. "At least I'm left-handed, so I'll still be able to write and do most things." Erik laughed deep in his throat. "What?"

"I'm left-handed too," he replied. Aminta looked at him with interest.

"Really? Well, that explains it," she said. "Neither of my parents…I mean…oh, you know what I mean. Neither of them is left-handed, so I always wondered why I was. Father-Raoul? Whatever-he always told me that it skipped a generation or something, but I never quite believed him. Now I know."

"Yes, now you know," agreed Erik. "Now we both know so much. But it's late, and I know you're tired. Come." And he rose, pulling her to her feet as well, and led her up the stairs to the bed where she had slept before. She turned and smiled at him.

"Thank you," she said softly. She hugged him again, and this time he put his arms around her readily, being careful not to crush her right arm. He stroked her thick, silky hair briefly.

"Good-night Aminta," he said, stepping back slowly.

"Good-night Erik," she replied. He smiled at her one last time before heading for the adjoining room. "And Erik?"

"Hmm?"

"…You can call me Amy, OK?"

She heard Erik laugh softly. "All right. Good-night Amy." And he vanished into the next room. Aminta removed her boots, set them next to the bed, and lay down. Normally she would toss and turn for hours at a time, trying to find a position comfortable enough for her to relax and fall asleep, but this was not so now. Now, as soon as her head touched the pillow, she was completely and peacefully asleep, knowing she was with someone who loved her...and whom she loved.


	13. The Truth ShallGive You A Headache

The Truth Shall...Give You A Headache  


Crash!_ The mirror lay in shattered fragments on the carpeted floor of the dressing-room. It would never be whole again, but that didn't matter. Raoul crunched over the broken glass unheeding, focused only on the goal ahead: to find and save Aminta. He knew she was here, and he knew how to find her. All he had to do now was get to her before it was too late. And this time, he would not be the one to fall into a deadly trap!_

_"It's him or me this time," Raoul vowed. _"Him or me."_ He ran on, dodging traps, only just climbing out when the floor opened beneath him. He would not be deterred. He would find and save his daughter-for she was _his_ daughter. He would never let Erik have her. What kind of life could he offer her anyway? No, even Aminta would have to see that this was for the best. It was for her own good._

_The chill waters of the underground lake swelled and churned as he strove through, but on he went. Nothing would hinder him; nothing would stop him. He had to reach his daughter. Finally he heard something up ahead: organ music. Dark, foreboding organ music that pounded in his head as he approached. He tried to keep his advance quiet, but it was difficult in the deep water. Still, the music should have drowned out sounds of his approach. How Erik knew he was there, he would never know, but he was ready for him._

_"Father!" cried Aminta, reaching out to him desperately._

'This is the _Don Juan_ incident all over again,'_ thought Raoul. "Aminta, I'm here now," he said, reaching for her. Aminta tried to go to him, but Erik held her back._

_"Now, doesn't this seem familiar?" Erik commented. "Where could I have seen this before?"_

_"Let her go!" demanded Raoul. "She's a _child!"

_"Oh yes!" said Erik as though hitting upon an idea. "This is almost exactly the situation that night so long ago when you stole Christine's love from me. Only this time, it's different."_

_"Damn right it is!" shouted Raoul in fury. "It was _you_ who tried to steal Christine from _me_, for one thing."_

_"This time there is no choice of life or death," Erik continued, unperturbed. "We can't both have her, and I'm not about to share. I always was rather selfish, really. No, this time I__ decide. And I decide that Aminta is mine__."_

_As if on cue, a Punjab lasso appeared out of nowhere and wrapped itself around Raoul's neck. He choked in surprise, Aminta's scream of fear shattering his heart. He reached for her desperately as his vision turned red, then darkened slowly to black. He tried to cry out, call her name, but couldn't make a sound. Only a sort of silent scream escaped his lips._

'Like a scream, but sort of silent, living off my nightmares…'

"Aminta!" he screamed, leaping out of the chair he had fallen asleep in as though being shocked by a live wire. Panting, gasping, he looked all around. Aminta wasn't there. No one was there. He was alone, completely alone. Even Christine had left, gone off somewhere. Slowly he caught his breath. His heart slowed to its normal pace. But he could not relax. Inexplicably agitated, he got up and started pacing. He couldn't stop thinking about the dream he had just had. Was there some message hidden in it? No, no, Aminta was a good judge of character. If Erik meant any malice towards her or her family, she would know. But still, the dream…frowning, he shook his head, trying to clear it.

"As much as I'd like to, I can't seriously believe that he would hurt her," he muttered. "Maybe that's what it's telling me, that I see him as something that he's not even though I want him to be because it makes everything easier…or maybe it's just a dream and nothing more. I don't know anymore." He sighed and stopped pacing when he reached the window. The night was warm but clear, the constellations clearly visible in the velvet sky. He smiled, remembering the nights he had spent lying on the grass with Aminta, teaching her the constellations and their names, and she teaching him the old myths that went with them. He smiled. Aminta had always been fascinated by astronomy. Everything had fascinated her once. Now it was only the mystical, the supernatural, and the impossible that could catch and hold her interest. Maybe that was why she loved Erik, because he encompassed all three whereas Raoul could touch none? He shook his head again. If he started thinking like this again, he'd drive himself mad. One thing was for certain, though. He had to see Aminta. He had to see her with _him_.

* * *

_"Past the point of no return/The final threshold/The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn/We've passed the point of no return!"_

Erik and Aminta's voices blended perfectly together as they sang. Erik, once Aminta had awakened, had offered to continue her voice lessons. Aminta readily agreed, surprising him by asking him to teach her "Point of No Return". Or maybe he wasn't all that surprised. She couldn't always tell with him. But it didn't really matter. Nothing did at the moment. All that mattered was the music. Erik and the music, or were they the same thing? She smiled to herself, listening to the last notes fading away into the stone. Erik sighed and let his hands drop to his sides.

"What's wrong?" asked Aminta.

"As much as I may not like it, we should probably return," he said. "Raoul will be missing you, even if Christine doesn't. Don't get the wrong idea about that; she most likely knows you're here with me." Aminta nodded.

"I don't care about _Raoul_ right now," said Aminta. "S'matter of fact, I don't even want to set eyes on him until my arm is out of this sling."

"Really," replied Erik coolly. "And how long will that take, approximately?"

"The nurse said a few weeks," said Aminta. "Probably not more than two. But I usually heal faster than most people."

"I can see that," commented Erik. "There's hardly a mark where you were cut now."

"Oh, really? I hadn't even thought about it. In any case, I should probably have my arm free in about a week, week and a half maybe."

"It's going to be difficult not seeing Raoul for over a week when you live under the same roof."

"Do you honestly not realize what I'm saying, do you want me to ask you outright, or are you just teasing me?"

"I'm teasing you."

Aminta laughed freely, the sound echoing through the lair. Erik couldn't remember ever hearing laughter in his lair, not even his own. It was interesting. He smiled.

"Well, you should know by now that you're welcome down here," he told her.

"If I wasn't, you wouldn't've told me how to open the mirror," replied Aminta. "Though I _am_ worried about Mother being worried."

"Let me take care of that," said Erik reassuringly. "And now, there's something I want to show you." He rose and gestured for her to follow him. Curious, she did. He stepped into the boat, and she followed suit.

"Don't sit down this time," he said. "Just hold on to me; I won't let you fall." Aminta nodded and did as he said. Erik made sure to keep both arms around her as he steered the boat out under the raised portcullis with a practiced ease. Not far from the great gate he stopped and turned the boat around.

"What are you doing?" asked Aminta curiously.

"Showing you something," replied Erik. "If you ever have need to come back here again on your own, you'll need to know how to open the gate. Look down here." He pointed to the glassy black water and she looked. "Do you see anything?"

Aminta frowned, as she did when she was concentrating on something. "It's hard to see, but it looks like one of the stones is slightly raised above the others. It looks like a trick of the light, though."

"It's supposed to," said Erik with a smile. "That stone opens the gate when pressed upon."

"Oh, so _that's_ how you did it. I wondered. It's a very impressive illusion."

"Thank you. Now, I'd rather you not take my boat if I'm not here, but if you need it then use it by all means."

Aminta laughed, the sound reverberating freely through the stone.

* * *

The sound of Aminta's echoing laughter reached Raoul on the other side of the lake. He had managed, quite by accident, to find the trapdoor beneath the stage that would lead him down here. He paused, frowning. Why was Aminta _laughing?_ Well, he could hardly have thought she'd actually be scared and praying that he'd come and rescue her. Truth be told, if they were to follow the formula of myth, Aminta would be the beautiful princess, but _Erik_ would be her shining knight, not the mythical beast who kidnapped pretty maids and held them while the knight fought through many perils to save them. But then, where did that leave Raoul? Would he then be the king waiting for the knight's victorious return to the castle with the princess so the two could be wed? Somehow he felt that in Aminta's faerie-tale he would be the villain who locked the princess in the tower, trying to keep her from her knight.

Raoul ground his teeth in exasperation as he sloshed through the icy waters of the subterranean lake. The lake was a labyrinth, but he followed the sound of Aminta's laughter right to her. As he rounded a corner he heard splashing and mixed laughter: Aminta, laughing like a little girl, and Erik.

"I told you to hold on!" Erik was saying through his mirth. "There, stop moving! We're both going to fall."

Raoul came upon them then. The boat, in which they were both standing, a precarious position, was rocking dangerously. Aminta was holding fast to Erik with her good arm while he had one arm around her while holding the pole in his other hand and using it to steady the boat. They were both laughing hopelessly. Raoul didn't know if he made some sound to betray himself, but suddenly Erik looked up.

"Wait! I think, my dear, we have a guest!" he said, turning around carefully to face Raoul. Aminta looked over and immediately looked away when she saw Raoul.

"Aminta?" called Raoul.

"Erik, would you please tell the Vicomte that I do _not _wish to speak with him?" Aminta asked Erik, as though Raoul wasn't even there. Raoul winced.

"OK, well maybe I deserved that," he admitted, "but Aminta, I told you I am so sorry! I swear I never meant to-"

"You put a bullet in her shoulder," said Erik coldly, holding Aminta protectively. "I don't think you even _knew _what you meant to do. But Aminta does not wish to speak with you. Furthermore, she does not wish to have any sort of contact with you until her arm is out of its sling."

_"WHAT?"_ roared Raoul. "That'll take weeks-_weeks!_ What the devil does she intend to do until then? Where will she stay?"

"I think you already know," replied Erik with a somewhat triumphant smile.

"Absolutely _not!_ Why, I'd sooner cut off my own ear than-"

"Then I suggest you have a lot of bandages handy when you do, and avoid doing so over a carpet. Bloodstains rarely come out." With that, he turned away and poled the boat expertly back under the portcullis, the iron gate lowering behind them. For a time, Raoul just stared after them.

_'Well, you _did_ deserve all that,'_ said a little voice in the back of his mind. _'You shot Aminta, after all. Besides, she's _his_ daughter, not yours. He has every right to-'_

"Oh, shut up," grumbled Raoul. He sneaked around the corner completely, watching what happened beyond the gate. Aminta and Erik were talking as Aminta sat down on the steps facing Erik. Out of the air, it seemed, Erik pulled a deck of cards and started amusing Aminta with card and sleight-of-hand tricks that made her laugh and clap.

_'_You_ could never do that,'_ said the little voice smugly. Grizzling, Raoul turned and sloshed away.

"Christine's going to _love_ this," he muttered.


	14. Temper, Again

A/N: I am _so_ sorry that I haven't updated in so long! I've had so much schoolwork, and I'm sick now, and there's just been so much to do lately, I never had the time. Sorry!

Disclaimer: I don't own "There's A Man", that's from "Secret Garden".

Temper, Again

"Good."

"Say again, please?"

"I said good. I'm glad she's staying with him. She can't very well go back to dancing yet anyway, and she's his daughter. They should spend time together."

"Could it be that you're on _his_ side?"

"I am _not_ taking sides. There are no _sides_ to be taken. Only _you_ seem to think that this is some sort of contest in which Aminta is the prize."

"I certainly do _not_. I'm just concerned-"

"For what? That she loves him more than you? She needs this time to figure out exactly _what_ it is she's feeling!"

"I'm not worried about where her affections lie so much as I am about yours."

Christine just stared at Raoul for a moment. "Oh Raoul," she said softly. "Do you truly believe that I love him more than you?"

"The fact that you love him at all is disquieting," snorted Raoul.

"I don't know _what_ I feel for him. But whatever it is, it's only a fraction of what I feel for you. I love _you_, Raoul. I know I made a few mistakes, and I can't make up for them now. But I truly regret what I've done. Can't you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Raoul looked at her, and his gaze softened. "Of course I can." He took her into his arms and held her close. "Oh Christine, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." She put her arms around him and leaned into him. They just stood together silently for a time, contemplating each other. Presently Christine spoke:

"How long is she staying with him?"

Raoul sighed. "She said she doesn't want to see me until her arm is out of its sling. That should be about a week and a half to two weeks."

"That's a long time."

"I know." Raoul sighed again. "But there's nothing we can do about it now."

While Christine and Raoul spent two weeks fretting and worrying (though about what, no one's sure), Aminta passed a wild and wonderful fourteen days with Erik. She really could have gone back after a little more than a week, after waking up one morning to find that her shoulder didn't hurt anymore, but she didn't want to go back. Not just yet.

_'Besides,'_ she reasoned, _'I don't know for certain if my shoulder is completely done healing yet. I should leave it in the sling for just a few days more.'_ It seemed logical enough, so she did. She had the nagging suspicion that Erik knew all this, but she kept it to herself. What did it matter anyway? Besides, maybe he didn't know. She could never be sure of anything where Erik was concerned. Erik was full of surprises.

Her first day with him (or the second, depending on how you judge the timing-suffice it to say that it was the day after Raoul had found out that Aminta didn't want to see him for two weeks) she began to get a grasp of this. She had just emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in her robe, and seen her clothes lying on the bed where she had laid them. For the first time she noticed how crinkled and dusty they had become. Her pants were dirty from the thigh down from slogging through the waters of the lake (which, in all honesty, wasn't all that clean). She decided to ask Erik where she could wash them (even the Opera Ghost had to do laundry sometimes!). He was at his organ, as usual, when she went out on the landing to talk to him. Before she could say anything, however, Erik, without even turning around, said, "Look in the wardrobe," and continued playing. Startled, but curious, Aminta did as he said. The wardrobe, a beautiful mahogany wardrobe that stood near her bed, had been empty the night before. Now, as Aminta opened it, she saw that this was no longer true. The wardrobe was full of clothes, and all in her size. Dresses, varying in fanciness from everyday to ball gowns, hung in one side. Four drawers lined the other side. In the top one were shirts of every colour and fabric, even silk. In the second were comfortable pants, all in black but some with buckles or belts. In the third drawer was an array of undergarments. In the last drawer was an assortment of combs, brushes, ribbons of all colours, some with lace or other adornments, and even makeup and perfume. Moving the skirts of the dresses, she saw a variety of shoes and black boots. Everything was brand new, and the contents of the drawers were all neatly folded and unwrinkled. Aminta just stood there staring for a while, unbelieving.

_'Erik did all this for me?'_ she thought. She reached out and fingered one of the gowns lovingly. _'I can't believe it. He did all this just for me. Just so I'd be comfortable.'_ She felt a twinge of guilt, thinking that she had done nothing for him.

"What do you think?"

She spun around in surprise. So absorbed in her own thoughts, she hadn't heard Erik come up behind her. He smiled at her, seeming to enjoy having surprised her. When she didn't respond, he said, "Well?" very gently.

"It's…I…oh Erik, you didn't have to…" she stammered, trying to collect herself. Erik laughed.

"I'm glad you like it," he said. Aminta grinned and hugged him. He hugged her back without a moment's hesitation, and then left her to get dressed in privacy. From her new array of clothes she chose her usual pair of black pants and decided on a blood red silk shirt with ruffles at the collar and the cuffs of the sleeves and black ribbon for her hair. As she was pulling on her boots, she heard Erik start playing again down below her. She listened, and realized he was playing "Music of the Night". She knew him well enough by now to know what that meant: he was thinking about Christine.

Aminta edged to the landing and looked out. In the reflection of the pipes, she could see the sadness in Erik's eyes. He stopped playing abruptly and leaned forward, putting his hands to the sides of his head. Aminta wondered what was wrong, and if he knew she was standing there watching him.

_'I wish I could be Mother for him,'_ she thought sadly. She didn't like seeing him like this, and tried to think of something she could do for him. A thought came to her, and she smiled as she began to sing:

_"There's a man who no one sees_

_There's a man who lives alone_

There's a heart that beats in silence for the life he's never known…" 

Erik straightened and turned around. Aminta just gave a small, innocent smile and a shrug. Erik smiled and shook his head.

"Join me, won't you?" he asked, gesturing to her usual spot on the steps. She smiled again and descended the stairs, seating herself comfortably on the bottom steps, and listened to him play.

Thus two weeks passed more or less in this fashion. Aminta felt like a princess in a world kingdom of magic, mystery, and music. She liked the feeling, and was sorry when two weeks were up.

It seemed only an instant between Aminta's decision to stay for two weeks with Erik and the time when she knew she no longer needed her sling and therefore had to go back. As usual, she and Erik were to attend the performance that night together, and then Aminta would return to her parents-or rather, to her mother and Raoul-by way of the mirror. For the occasion Aminta dressed in one of the dresses Erik had procured for her, a dress of silver and midnight-blue. She even put on makeup and perfume, just because. She was starting to fix her hair in a style Christine had always loved, a hairline twist with an English braid, when she heard Erik begin to play again. Somehow he was always ready before her. She smiled and went out to listen, attempting to fix her hair at the same time. However, she found that braids come out a lot better when someone else is doing them for you. She made a sound of frustration and Erik turned to see what was wrong. He laughed when he saw her struggling with her hair. She tried to glare at him, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, and I suppose you can do better, can you?" she challenged. To her surprise, Erik gestured for her to come closer. He rose up off the bench as she did.

"Here, turn around," he said. Curious she did as he said, and he started braiding her hair. It was an interesting sensation, his fingers against her face as he swept her hair back and twisted it into the style she wanted. "There."

Aminta stepped forward a little and lightly felt her hair. "Perfect," she said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. She turned to him. "So the fearsome Phantom of the Opera braids hair now?" she asked with a teasing smile. Erik only laughed.

"By the way, I have something for you," he said.

"Oh Erik, really…" began Aminta.

"I insist," said Erik firmly. "Turn around and close your eyes." Aminta did as he said, and felt something cool against her neck. "All right, open your eyes." She did, and found herself gazing into a hand mirror that Erik held up before her. She gasped when she saw what he had given her: a beautiful teardrop-shaped silver necklace with a multi-faceted teardrop mystic fire topaz.

"Oh," she said softly. "Oh Erik, it's beautiful. But you didn't have to…I mean, with everything else you've given me…"

"I wanted to," replied Erik simply. Aminta smiled up at him, then gave him a hug.

"Thank you," she whispered, "Father." She could feel Erik's surprise when she said the word. He stepped back and looked at her. She just smiled, gazing steadfastly into his eyes. He sighed and smiled back at her, and offered her his arm, which she took readily.

What followed was much the same as the time before. Erik and Aminta attended the performance, Erik saw Aminta safely to Christine's mirror, Christine and Raoul fawned all over Aminta, and they went home. However, there was one slight difference this night.

Raoul and Aminta came back.

Aminta had been unable to sleep, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable in her bed. She had grown quickly used to being underground with Erik, safe in the sanctity of the darkness and seclusion. Now she felt exposed and cold. Frustrated, she had kicked off her blankets, dressed again, and went for a walk around the garden. As she was returning to the trellis to climb back up into her room, she noticed Raoul sneaking down the main path to the livery. Curious, she followed him. He was hitching his horses to the smallest carriage.

_'Where on Earth could he be going at nearly three in the morning?'_ wondered Aminta. Still more curious, she waited in the shadows until Raoul went by, and then grabbed onto the back of the carriage, holding fast so she wouldn't fall (obviously, she had had practice). Thankfully there was no one on the streets, save for the inebriated bums and tavern-goers who didn't really give a damn about a girl hanging onto the back of the Vicomte de Chagny's carriage. Raoul stopped in front of the Opera House, leaving Aminta fearful for Erik. She knew how stupid Raoul could be when he was jealous, and he was certainly jealous of Erik. Then again, Erik was more than capably of watching out for himself, which consequently caused Aminta's fear to shift to Raoul. He wasn't her father, and she was still vexed with him, but she still didn't want him to get hurt. She snuck in after him, sticking to the shadows, removing her boots so she could proceed silently. Unsurprisingly, Raoul went straight to the stage. From his stride, Aminta could tell he was angry.

_"Phantom!"_ he shouted in fury. There was no response. _"Erik! I know you're here!"_

"What _is_ it with you and always shouting when a little common civility will get you a much more positive reaction?" came Erik's calm voice. Raoul spun to face him where he stood casually leaning against the wall with his arms folded. "Good evening," he said politely.

"Don't toy with me!" snarled Raoul. Erik held up his hands in mock defense.

"Certainly, Monsieur," he replied. "You'll forgive my good manners." Aminta covered her mouth to muffle her snickering. Silently she left and went up to Box 5 to get a better view.

"You think you can buy my daughter with an expensive necklace?" Raoul demanded.

"Not to split hairs, but I believe Aminta is _my_ daughter," said Erik. "And that was never my intention and you know it. I only wanted to make her happy."

"No, you only care about making _you_ happy, and to do that you want to steal Aminta from me!" retorted Raoul.

"Stealing from a thief is no theft," answered Erik mildly.

"What are you saying?"

"_You_ stole Christine from me."

"I never!"

"You did! But I can accept that she is happy, and that's enough for me, unlike you."

"Christine _never_ loved you!"

"Oh, and I suppose she told you this herself?"

"She doesn't have to. I saw what you did to her. Your only hold on her was fear and superstition."

"I thought you came here to discuss Aminta?"

"Yes, Aminta, _my_ daughter, the daughter whom _I_ raised and loved and cared for all her life."

"Only because she never knew the truth 'til now."

"What truth? That you took advantage of Christine in her emotional confusion?"

"Oh, here we go again. Christine must have told you by now. I did _not_ take advantage of her in any way. Besides, I haven't heard her complain about any of this. Or Aminta, for that matter. They both seem perfectly content, especially Aminta."

"Only because you're buying her off!"

"That necklace was a gift, as was everything else I provided for her during her brief sojourn with me."

"You can't buy her love!"

"Love can be neither bought nor created. It can only be found. Something Aminta said once."

"I know that! But you can't seriously believe that she loves you!"

"Why not? She's not a liar. Your arguments must seem pathetic even to your own ears. Accept it, Raoul. I've won. Aminta's heart is mine."

"You can't have her! I won't allow it, do you hear me? I'll die first!"

"How dare you! Both of you!" shouted Aminta, unable to contain her fury any longer. Both Raoul and Erik looked up, clearly startled. "Standing around haggling over me like I'm some sort of prize bull? I am _not_ just some _prize_ to be _won!"_ Wild-eyed and broken-hearted, she spun on her heel to leave.

"Aminta, wait!" called Erik.

"No!" she yelled. "Haggle like misers all you want, I will not be bought and sold like an animal! My heart is mine to give, and mine _alone!"_ With that, she slammed her fist into the wall, opening the hollow column, into which she vanished.


	15. Tag

**D.A.:** I am SO sorry it's taken so long for me to update, but I've been so busy lately! I've had projects due in almost _every_ class at school, and I just haven't had the time. Sorry! Oh, and by the way LoverofBalto, I do believe I shall take your advice and dispose of Raoul soon.

**RAOUL:** Hey, you can't do that to me!

**D.A.:** (bashes Raoul on the head with a pole) Yes I can, now stop whining!

**RAOUL:** But-

**D.A.:** (bashes Raoul again) No 'buts'! I am the authoress! I am all-powerful! Keep annoying me, and I'll kill you off instead of what I have planned!

* * *

Tag

Aminta raced blindly, furiously through the darkness. She had no idea where she was going; she was just following her feet. She ended up in the catwalks above the stage. Well, that was just fine. She glared down at Raoul, who was still on the stage below her, staring up at Box 5 as though she would reconsider her actions and come back. When that didn't happen, Raoul turned and hurried away up the aisle. She growled in her throat as she watched him. Fool, he'd never figure out how to open the door. But where was Erik? She glanced around for him, but did not see him anywhere. He must have followed her, so where was he? Her eyes widened and she spun around and saw Erik watching her. He had been trying to catch her unawares so she couldn't run away from him. He had forgotten how sensitive she was to being watched. He was slightly startled when she turned on him so quickly, but he composed himself.

"Aminta-" he said gently, reaching out to her. "Aminta-"

"No!" she shouted angrily. "I don't want to see either of you right now!"

"Aminta, what I said, I didn't mean it like that," he said.

"I don't care! I really don't want to hear it! I don't want to talk to you or anyone right now, so go away."

"_Go away?_ No one says 'go away' to the Opera Ghost!"

"Oddly enough, I think I just did! Don't try to be funny, I'm not in the mood." She turned to leave across one of the catwalks, but Erik moved and blocked her path. She glared at him for a moment, then darted halfway across one of the others. She froze when she saw Erik directly across from her on the opposite walk. She made as though to run to the left, but Erik moved too. The same thing happened when she tried to go to the right.

_ 'This must be how Buquet felt in his last moments,'_ she thought. _'Severely disquieted.'_ She bolted finally into the shadows and didn't hear Erik following. Had she outrun him? Not likely. Something was going on. She made it up to the third level catwalks…

…and almost literally ran into Erik.

She backed away slowly, not taking her eyes off Erik for an instant. He smiled at her somewhat darkly as she tried to figure a way out. She bumped into something and glanced back. Somehow some of the sandbags had fallen, blocking her path. From Erik's dark laugh, she guessed it wasn't an accident. She glared back at him, and nearly jumped when she realized how much closer he had come.

"Now will you please calm down and talk to me?" he asked.

Aminta's eyes darted around, and she smiled grimly as she got an idea. "No." So saying, she whipped her handkerchief out of her pocket, wrapped it around one of the ropes, and slid down to the stage. She started to run, but Erik slid down right in front of her.

"Just leave me alone!" she exclaimed in exasperation, backing up and holding out one hand as though to fend him off.

"Aminta, I just want to talk to you," said Erik gently, reaching out to her. As luck would have it, that's exactly how they were when Raoul came back. You can imagine what it looked like to him: Erik reaching out for Aminta, Aminta backing away holding out her hand. He just stared for a moment, then his face darkened.

"Is this what it looks like?" he demanded.

"Uh…" said Aminta cleverly, trying to think of a way to make things look less like what they were. An idea came to her, but it was humiliating. She groaned silently. _'I'm gonna hate myself for this,'_ she thought. She reached out just a little further and tapped Erik's arm with a childish cry of, "Tag, you're It!" before darting off. Erik blinked, staring after her for a moment before pursuing her.

"Where do you think you're going?" snapped Raoul, jumping up on the stage.

"Didn't you hear her?" asked Erik coolly. "Apparently, I'm It." With that, he gave chase to Aminta.

He pursued her all the way up to the rooftop, where she sat broodingly on the ledge, her legs crossed loosely, elbows resting on her knees, mouth pressed against her folded hands. He stood watching her for a time, silently considering her. Her thick, long hair had come loose from its ponytail and streamed behind her in the wind, catching the light from the moon. She looked like a shadow, or a secret.

"I know you're there, Erik," she said icily.

"Aminta, what's really upsetting you?" he asked. Aminta looked over her shoulder at him in surprise.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"There's something more here that's upsetting you," said Erik. "What is it?" Aminta didn't answer, just turned away again. "Aminta, please. Confide in me. You said you could tell me anything."

"Did I?" she asked, not turning this time. "When was that?"

"Three days ago."

"Can you give the exact time and place?"

"Yes."

Aminta laughed in her throat and turned around fully.

"Aminta, please come away from the edge. I don't like you sitting like that."

"You _are_ a father, aren't you." Smiling, Aminta hopped down off the ledge and walked towards him a ways.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong now?" Erik asked gently. Aminta sighed.

"No, but I will anyway," she said. "You're not going to leave me alone until I do. I'm just so confused! Ever since I met you, things have gone from bad to worse, and nothing's ever OK unless I'm with you. You make the world stop spinning out of control for a while and give me peace and time to think and make sense of things. But even though I'm so happy with you, no one else seems willing to let us be together. And by that, I mean Raoul. He's never going to just accept this whole situation, and I'm afraid that someone's going to get hurt. What if I'm not there next time he brandishes a pistol? I couldn't stand to lose you, not now, not after everything that's happened. And I don't want _him_ getting hurt either. I don't want _anyone_ getting hurt, but I'm so afraid that that's how this whole opera of ours is going to resolve itself, and I can't stand the thought of that happening, of someone getting hurt or killed because of me, I…"

"Shh," said Erik softly, taking her into his arms. "It's all right, no one's going to get hurt. And it's not your fault, any of it. You can't control what's happening around you now. Don't cry, Aminta." For Aminta had started crying softly. She just cried for a time, and Erik held her close, trying to comfort her. He could feel her tears soaking into his shirt, but it didn't matter. Finally Aminta caught her breath and stepped back a little, trying to calm herself. Erik gave her his handkerchief, since she had dropped hers on the stage.

"I can't go on like this," she said softly after drying her eyes. "This is crazy. It's not supposed to be this hard."

"What isn't?" asked Erik.

"Living! Just being alive! I've spent my whole life wishing I were someone else, or somewhere else, on a grand, epic adventure. My own adventure turned out to be quite different."

"It'll be all right, I promise."

"Will it?"

"It will."

This new voice caused both Erik and Aminta to look up in surprise. Christine stood in the doorway watching them, her eyes infinitely sad, just like Aminta's could be. She walked towards them slowly.

"It will be all right," she said again. "I'll make sure of that. Aminta, I'm so sorry. For everything. This isn't your fault, or Erik's. It's mine. I've made mistakes, the worst of which being not telling you the truth, either of you. I don't know what I was thinking now. I probably wasn't thinking at all. But I've caused a lot of confusion and pain that could easily have been avoided if I had just told the truth. I thought that hiding it from everyone was the best thing, so no one would ever know what I had done. No one would ever know I was unfaithful to Raoul. I should have known better. I don't think I can ever make it up to either of you, but I want to try, if you'll let me."

"Mother," said Aminta softly. Then, smiling, she went to her and hugged her tightly. Christine smiled and returned the hug. "It's all right. I forgive you."

"As do I," said Erik softly, but he didn't move towards her. Christine smiled at him over Aminta's shoulder.

"So what do we do now?" asked Aminta.

"You explain to me what the hell is going on up here," came another new voice. Aminta rolled her eyes and pulled apart from her mother as Raoul joined them on the roof. He did not look pleased.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?" retorted Aminta. "Who invited you? This is a private party."

"Don't be funny, Amy," said Raoul coldly. "This is not the time for your silly jokes."

"Must you be so theatrical?" asked Christine.

"Well, we _are_ on the roof of a theatre," Aminta pointed out.

"Enough!" shouted Raoul.

"Father's right, you _do_ yell a lot," commented Aminta. Raoul's face nearly turned purple when she said this, for he knew she was not using 'Father' to refer to him.

"What is going on here?" he demanded.

"I'm talked with my daughter and her father," replied Christine. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for _our_ daughter!" snapped Raoul. "You didn't see what happened before, she didn't want anything to do with him!"

"Or you," said Aminta icily. "I have since changed my mind. Now I just want nothing to do with you." She turned and walked back to Erik and stood by his side. "I have made my choice," she said. As though to punctuate this, she leaned up and kissed Erik's cheek. He seemed surprised by this, but said nothing, only took Aminta's hand. Raoul was nearly apoplectic with rage and turned to Christine for help.

"Christine," he said. "Little Lotte, you must have something to say about all this! This is madness!"

"No, Raoul," said Christine tiredly. "Madness is living in the lie I wove so long ago that has been building and growing all these years. The lie is exposed and destroyed now, and where does that leave us? It leaves me guilt-stricken and sad, it leaves Aminta lost and confused, it leaves you nearly maddened by jealously and rage, and it leaves Erik with the prospect of a family."

"What are you saying?" demanded Raoul.

"I'm saying that jealousy and rage do not become you," she said. "I'm saying that I've had enough lies. I'm saying that I want a normal life for my daughter, as normal as it can be. I'm saying that I want her to be happy."

"Christine…" said Raoul softly, eyes widening as he realized what she was getting at. "Christine, darling, we can work through this. We'll figure this out, just calm down and…"

"I am calm," replied Christine coolly. "You are the one getting bent out of shape over this. And that too is very unattractive. There's something else that I am saying, in answer to your first question."

"Christine," groaned Raoul.

"I'm saying that I made a huge mistake the night of _Don Juan."_


	16. Aminta's Diary

A/N: I'm pretty sure I don't have the year right, so if someone could correct me that'd be great.

Aminta's Diary

**_31st October, 1897_**

_ It's Halloween. A little more than four months have elapsed since the rooftop incident, and my life has changed forever. I now live in a beautiful, opulent house tucked away safely in the woods, but close enough to town for Mother and I to go shopping or to the theatre, etc., etc. Raoul has since moved away, gone to America to find a rich girl to marry and forget about all this. I can find it in my heart to hope he finds peace. _

_ Father, having long ago forsaken his former life, has decided to take on the surname Dubois. Very apropos, I must say. At least, it is now. He and Mother are married now, and few know about it. Mme. Giry is one of these few. As far as everyone else know, Mother and Raoul simply got divorced and Christine moved to a new home. We prefer it that way, really. It makes things simpler. Our new home Father designed himself, putting his genius to work. It's a magnificent Gothic marvel of a building, riddled with secret rooms, trap-doors, and hidden passageways. Well, Father is a trap-door lover, and Mother and I certainly don't mind. I still don't know where all of them are, but that's half the fun!_

_ I've never seen Mother or Father happier. They're so in love. It's very touching, really. I received a letter from Raoul asking if Mother was truly happy, and another after I had replied that yes, she is, saying that's really what he wanted for her. I guess I can forgive him now. Mother and Father go about arm-in-arm, talking and laughing freely like young lovers. It makes me smile to see them happy, finally at peace with themselves and each other. I sit for hours outside the music room, long after I'm supposed to have gone to bed, listening to them sing together, or Father sing and/or play for Mother. I have the nagging suspicion that Father always knows I'm there, but he never says anything. That suits me just fine. If Mother knew I was there, I'm sure it would be back off to bed with me._

_ Mother still sings at the Opera Populaire, though no more notes appear anymore. Father does like to surprise her sometimes by calling to her from behind the mirror, but that just makes her laugh. It used to be that only I could make Mother laugh, but now Father can too. She laughs much more frequently and easily now than she ever did before. Her laughter's as beautiful as her singing, and I hope it never stops._

_ And me? Well, I've been doing wonderfully. I'm still dancing at the opera house, and Mme. Giry says that soon we – my classmates and I – will be ready for the stage. She still says that one day I will be a prima donna like Mother, but that'll have to wait a few years. Father still teaches me as he taught Mother, and often tells me how much I sound like her. I hope to be prima donna someday and make them both proud. Father home-schools me, but I still have friends in town and I visit them often. I've met a boy now, too, a friend of my best friend, Catherine's. His name's Joseph. He's so sweet and smart and fun…I think I'm in love! Mother and Father are happy for me, especially since Catherine says that Joseph reciprocates my feelings. I can only hope!_

_ Father's been trying to scare me all day, in keeping with the spirit of Halloween and his being a sort retired ghost. He hasn't succeeded yet, but he claims that he will before the day is out. Not likely. But we're both having fun anyway. Mother just laughs as she watches us. She's not nearly so skittish anymore, but she still doesn't like to be scared purposely so she's abstaining from our little game. Maybe next year she'll join in. We'll see._

_ I have never been happier. I have home, parents that love me, friends, and a new trap-door or hidden room to discover every day. But more than that, I have something else. _Me._ For the first time in my life, I know who I am. I am Christine and Erik's daughter, the spitting image of my mother. I am Aminta Dubois. I am my father's daughter. And _nothing_ can take that away._

**Aminta Maurelle Dubois, age 16**

**_FIN_**


	17. Epilogue

A/N: I'm back! I just saw the show again yesterday for my birthday (though my birthday was on Monday, we couldn't go to New York on a school day) and I just _had_ to write more, just a little more. Look phor more Phantom phics phrom me!

Epilogue

**_(from the P.O.V. of Raoul)_**

**One year ago I swore I'd never set eyes on this place again. Yet here I am, making my way down the deserted streets. I sat again in my old box at the opera house. I saw Christine perform, but did not stay around to talk with her. I couldn't bear to. I saw him – Erik – sitting in Box 5 as usual. Aminta sat with him, smiling, radiant. The one aspect of mine and Christine's life that I thought he could never touch, and it turns out that she was his all along. But she's so happy. I cannot deny it anymore; they're both so happy. That's all I ever wanted for them. I had just hoped it would be with me.**

**Aminta saw me tonight. During the entr'acte, she looked over as she rose from her seat to clear her dress and our eyes met. She was startled to say the least, but smiled at me. I don't know for certain if Erik noticed or not, but he gave no outward sign that I saw. I saw that Aminta was wearing his ring, the gold one with the black stone. I felt an odd twinge of guilt that I had never given her mine, but I ignored it. I felt a similar twinge when Christine smiled up at Box 5 at the end the way she used to smile up at me. I don't know if I could have stood it if she had looked up at me, not after the way we parted. I hope that she forgave me.**

**I followed them afterwards. I waited outside the theatre in the shadows for them to come out and followed. They were talking together, and Aminta was laughing. She looks different than I remember her. Her hair's taken on a dark golden sheen, and her skin's rosier than it was. She's still pale, but not ghostly anymore. She looks…alive is the word I think. Christine too looks different, her skin with a radiance I don't remember ever seeing, her eyes with a light all their own. Even Erik looks more alive now, less like the ghostly specter who haunted the Opera Populaire and more like a living man. I can now admit to myself what I refused to believe all these years: Erik truly loves Christine. He always did. And he loves Aminta as well, that much is obvious. A chill wind began to blow and as usual Aminta was without a scarf or shawl. Erik wrapped his cloak around her and held her close to him. Christine smiled at this. I couldn't help smiling as well.**

**They live in a great mansion tucked away in the woods, wrapped in shadows and secrets. I wanted to go up and knock at their door, but I just couldn't bring myself to it. Instead, like a peeping Tom, I watched through the windows as they moved through the house. I watched them have dinner together, Erik unmasked, which startled me at first. I'm sure that this is something Aminta insisted on; it's the sort of thing she'd do. But anything's possible. Perhaps it was Christine's suggestion.**

**I lost sight of them for a while after they left the dining-room, but found them again in a library-cum-music room. Christine looked like an angel in her white dressing-gown, Aminta was barefoot and wore a red silk nightgown that came down to her ankles, and Erik had removed his jacket and sat comfortably in a loose white shirt and black pants. He and Christine sat in expensive-looking armchairs while Aminta sat at Erik's feet, leaning against him as he read aloud from a book of Tennyson poems. They were the picture of the perfect family.**

**By and by Aminta looked up at Erik and spoke. I couldn't hear what she said, but Erik laughed and looked at Christine, who smiled and nodded, agreeing with whatever Aminta had said. Feigning defeat, Erik rose and seated himself at a piano nearby. Aminta took his vacated seat, curling up like a cat as she always had. She closed her eyes, smiling as she and Christine listened to Erik play. He occasionally glanced back and smiled at them. Presently he played a song that made Aminta open her eyes and raise her head curiously. Smiling, she rose and walked over to him and began to sing. I wish I could have heard them. When the song ended, she kissed Erik – on the malformed side of his face, no less – and returned to her chair. It was then that she saw me at the window watching. She was startled but said nothing about it. I was afraid she had when I saw her exchange words with Christine, but Christine only nodded and turned back to Erik. Aminta vanished from sight for a while, then startled me by apparently appearing behind me.**

**"Boo."**

**I jumped slightly and turned. She stood behind me, still barefoot but now with a shawl wrapped around her. She smiled.**

**"What brings you here?" she asked, not unkindly.**

**"I just had to see you again," I said. "You and Christine." She smiled and nodded.**

**"I understand, I suppose. But you could've just come to the door."**

**I shook my head. "No. I couldn't do that. Not after the things I said, the things I did."**

**"It's all in the past," said Aminta. "True, there were times when I could've killed you, but I'd have felt badly about it later." I laughed. I couldn't help it, I laughed. Aminta had a way of making death and murder seem funny. She smiled again, apparently satisfied.**

**"Aminta, I'm truly sorry," I said. "For everything. I still can't believe how jealous and possessive I was. Maybe if I hadn't been I wouldn't have lost you and your mother."**

**"She still loves you, in a way," said Aminta. "But I think that the love you shared was more a friend's love, a brother and sister's love, not a man and a woman's love."**

**"There's a difference?" I asked sullenly, before I could stop myself. I was immediately ashamed. It was this very attitude that had lost me my family in the first place! How could I still be acting like this now? But Aminta seemed to understand somehow.**

**"Yes there is," she said gently. "You understand."**

**"Yes." I sighed. I didn't want to be here talking with her, and yet I didn't know where else I would rather be. As though sensing my conflict, Aminta moved forwards and gave me a light, gentle hug. I hugged her back in the same casual manner.**

**"You're welcome here at any time," she said kindly. "But I'm afraid I must go. It's late, and Mother will come looking for me if I'm gone too long."**

**"You won't tell them I was here, will you?" I asked fretfully.**

**"Only if you will come back," she replied. I was startled. "And I mean come to the door and come inside like a proper guest." Seeing my expression, her own softened and she added, "Please. I know it would make Mother and Father happy." It hurt me slightly to hear her call Erik 'Father', but she had every right to. He was her father. I sighed and smiled.**

**"All right," I said. "I'll come back."**

**"Thank you," said Aminta, smiling. She glanced back at the house. "I have to go. Until next we meet, good-night."**

**"Good-night Aminta," I said softly, watching her go back inside. I lingered a little longer there in the shadows, watching her reenter the sitting-room with Christine and Erik. Both looked up when she came in, apparently asking where she was. She shrugged and said something about the night sky. At least, that's what it looked like from the gestures she made. She curled up in her chair again, asking Erik to keep playing. He smiled and spoke. Aminta nodded and Erik resumed playing. Aminta again closed her eyes to listen, and apparently fell asleep because Christine looked up at her after a while, smiled, and went over and said something to Erik, who looked over at Aminta and smiled. He rose and went over to her, picking her up, cradling her in his arms like a little child. He kissed her cheek, then he and Christine kissed, apparently saying good-night. Erik carried Aminta out of the room and Christine put out the lights. When they were all gone, I left. Tomorrow I will go back like I promised Aminta. I do not know what will happen, how I will be received, but at least I will finally have kept one of my promises.**

**A wise young lady once said, "Love can be neither bought nor created. It can only be found." Now I finally understand what she meant, what she tried so hard to teach me. Lesson truly learnt, but far too late, I can only hope that I never forgot. So good-night, Amy! Tell Christine that I always loved her in some way. Wait up for me tomorrow, I'll be there. I promise I'll be there this time. I promise I will always be there.**


End file.
